


Opposite Measure

by thanatosx49



Series: Janus Rising [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Horror, Humor, Pete's World, Post-Episode: s04e13 Journey's End, Romance, Suspense, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-14 03:36:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 128,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1251316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanatosx49/pseuds/thanatosx49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Journey's End, Rose is getting to know the Meta-Crisis Doctor. Meanwhile, there's been a series of murders around London and there's an ancient being lurking....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on the Teaspoon. Be nice, this was my first story and the whole thing, like everything else, was written on a cell phone.

A kiss...

Her lips left his at the familiar grinding sound, leaving him with an immediate sense of loss. No surprise, since he'd known he'd be left here as soon as he'd glimpsed the sand through the doors. Also, no surprise to Rose's reaction. The change this time was too much, too sudden. Too alien. Last time she thought he was a Slitheen. Part human, one heart, too much indeed. Even for him. 

The finality of the TARDIS dematerializing before them chilled him to the bone. The last time, unless Donna's idea worked. Otherwise he was stranded. In the wrong Universe. Homeless, and utterly alone inside his mind for the first time in his lives. On a beach in.....

"Bloody Norway! What is it with you and Norway? Couldn't you have dropped us closer to home?" Jackie Tyler groused. "Oi, I'm talking to you, you daft alien."

"Oh, sorry. I'm... sorry," he mumbled, too stunned for words as he clutched at Rose's hand, staring at the depression in the sand that marked where the TARDIS had stood moments before. When she'd pulled away at the noise, he'd run after her, knowing her pain, but hesitating in the last moment. He'd thrust his hands into his pockets, wondering how to proceed, nonplussed at the unfamiliar feeling of uncertainty. This was their fault. His and HIS even more. And Donna, what did you do to me?! 

Jackie got to Rose's side just before he did, gathering her daughter into her an embrace, comforting her, rubbing her back and saying as the sobbing subsided, "Never mind, love. No need to cry. He's still here."

"But it's not him," was the reply, and oh did that sting. 

Jackie disagreed. "The other him said he was him too, even if he's, whatever he is. Not like you could keep them both. That'd be confusing and a bit... kinky, I dare say."

"Mum!" Rose protested, a shaky smile appearing on her face with a hiccupping laugh. "Though, that would be weird."

She glanced at him, but didn't seem to actually see him. Not knowing the pain her words had caused him, she sniffled and wiped at her eyes, visibly pulling herself together. "Guess we're gonna have to get back, then...To London, I mean," she said, putting on a brave front. 

 

For all those few hours on the TARDIS surrounded by all their friends, the shared laughs, the amazing kiss a few minutes ago, she can't see who he is. No matter that he'd had the balls to say the words his other self didn't have the balls to speak, or that he'd been the one to stay and was now freezing on this stupid Norwegian bit of sand. Without his coat. His wonderful coat. He loved that coat – and the other Him has the coat. And the TARDIS. 

But he's got Rose, if she'll have him. A prospect that isn't looking good at the moment. And it hurts. More than he could've expected in all of his 900 years. 

No TARDIS. Only one heart. No friends waiting for him. Only Rose, who seemed to think he was just a poor copy. A poor homicidal, dangerous copy, at that, thanks, other Doctor. And Jackie Tyler, who was probably waiting for the next opportunity to give him a slap. No slapping him into his next regeneration this time. No more of those, either. She could attempt to slap him into next week. Might be his only option for time travel, if shatterfrying the plasmic shell didn't work with that piece of coral. 

"Pete's already sending a car to take us into Bergen, with a helicopter waiting. Thank God for Torchwood, they'll keep this quiet. Best keep under the radar, with himself not having a library card, much less a passport. Come along you two, " Jackie says as she marches down the beach to the road. Not noticing that no one else has spoken in minutes, or looking to see if they follow. "I've got a cuppa with my name on it and I want to get back to my Tony. And there's sand in my shoes – again."

Rose brushes her hair out of her face and goes to follow her mother, as he stands beside her, tentatively holding out a hand. She smiles hesitantly up at him. 

"We'll figure this out, yeah?"

He can't help but feel a glimmer of hope as he smiles back, saying, "Yup, always do. At least it's not Clom, or Krop Tor."

"Or Raxacorcofallipatorius?" she replies, teasing, a bit of the old comraderie slipping in as they follow her mother hand in hand. 

"Don't want any Slitheen, either. Would be a bit harder to fit in, us not being green beady eyed and only... human." He suppressed a shudder, thinking. Only human. Well, partly. No regeneration. No traveling for awhile. He'd have to get a job and no...possibly a mortgage. This was going to be hell. 

Rose squeezed his hand, obviously guessing something of what passed through his mind. "Come on then. Mum's waiting and Pete will want a debriefing. " 

 

She doesn't know what to think of this man at her side, despite having kissed him while the love of her life beat a hasty retreat. Should've known He'd do a runner. Avoiding things like emotions and feelings was his specialty. Too domestic. And this one, he was too quiet. Like he was lost in his own world. Or his whole world had been lost...

The Doctor had said, "I'm him and he's me." Confusing, right? "Born in battle, full of blood anger and revenge." Was that supposed to be informative? Much less reassuring? "He needs you and that's very me." So was she now a babysitter for Time Lord hybrids? And was that a backhanded compliment hidden in there? 

He didn't look like a genocidal maniac, not at all. He looked like the Doctor. Same face, same long, lean form; same great hair, but a different range of facial expressions. The eyes held a lot more darkness and despair within them. Even a touch of fear and trepidation. A tenseness in his body language, the way he grasped her hand like a drowning man. A hesitation in place of the proper Doctor's confidence. Like he wasn't sure if he belonged. He hadn't even spoken since they'd gotten into the car, the windows tinted and the driver anonymous. Her mother had been chattering away to him about Tony, oblivious to the fact he wasn't listening. Not that he ever would've, if he'd been the proper Doctor. But the proper Doctor would've at least been annoyed with her Mum. This one had just been staring into space, for most of the ride to Bergen. 

"Come back, yeah? You're a million miles away, but the rest of us are still here," she said, squeezing his hand. She felt sorry for him. This couldn't be any less... traumatic and confusing for him, either. Someone else's memories, appearance....

He looked at her then, with the familiar brooding look she hadn't seen since before the Game Station. The one made her almost to see fiery blue eyes instead of brown. The one her first Doctor had worn when the past was on his mind, and words would've been too much. With a slight attempt at a smile, he squeezed her fingers in return before going back to staring out the window again. 

 

They climb into the helicopter with no hesitation, with enthusiasm, even. Donning ear protectors against the sound of the helicopter's rotors. It's a brief respite from fumbling for safe conversation topics and also a chance to process the events of that.... day. 

They've all been through a lot. Dimension jumps, the Earth overrun with Daleks. The governments of the world forced to surrender against the onslaught as the stars were going out in other Universes. The Doctor being shot by a Dalek in a street in Chiswick and partially regenerating. Then his own, sort of sideways regeneration/birth with him awakening, naked on the metal grating of the console room floor. Much to the shock and embarrassment of Donna. Poor Donna. Impossible things, they were, the pair of them. One a human with a Time Lord mind, the other an anomaly grown out of a severed hand. A fighting hand, at that. An Instantaneous Biological Metacrisis, who'd have thought?

Who am I, really? he wonders. "I AM the Doctor," he'd told Donna, just before he flipped that lever that destroyed every stinking Dalek in creation. Paid them back in full for Gallifrey. Fulfilled the prophesy, too. Got himself branded as a dangerous murderer and got banished to a parallel universe by... himself, really. As if the Time Lord wouldn't have ended up doing the same, once he'd hemmed and hawed. Should've been giving me some gratitude, not a lecture. Because of me he can go swanning off, guilt free back to the other Universe. And there's me, left here with nothing but Rose.

Memories, knowledge, appearance, but not a Time Lord. Not fully, anyway. His sense of the timelines was hazy, barely there unless he focused and that was giving him a headache. Same with the sensation of the Earth's rotation. Some of that could be the different universes, but it hadn't been that weak when he'd been on Pete's World before. 

Never been another like him before. He'd be considered an abomination back home. If he'd had one, that is. Part human, just disgusting. With nothing but the clothes on his back and whatever was in his pockets. And Rose, if she'd have him, after all this. What must she think? He'd offered her his forever, but she hadn't said yes. Couldn't assume the kiss would settle everything. She would be going through a lot herself. The ultimate rejection without a goodbye and a partially human lookalike for a consolation prize. 

Yay, Rose! You crossed Universes, hoping to save all of reality and find the Time Lord you love and you did it! Congratulations, here's a defective half Martian to fix for your troubles. Don't worry, he's just a tad full of blood, anger and revenge, but you'll keep an eye on him, won't you? The bloody arrogance! The Time Lord was the one at fault, not paying attention, refusing to regenerate fully, then getting them all trapped on the Dalek Crucible. 

Bitter regret filled him. Nothing to recommend him. He knew she cried for HIM on that beach. He of the two hearts, the respiratory bypass and a dimensionality transcendent ship. All he had was a pilfered suit and a burgundy t-shirt, a battered pair of trainers still covered in slime from Paxion 5, and a name unpronounceable by humans. Or at least, He did, but He hadn't used it in over 800 years. Now he'd have to get a proper name, with papers, identification cards and documents proving he properly existed. And he'd need a job, so Rose won't have to support him. Can't rely on charity forever. That is if she doesn't just abandon him somewhere. 

No, she wouldn't. She was Rose; full of compassion and understanding. Plus Jackie wouldn't be likely to let her just dump him off somewhere, not with where she'd been chattering away like a magpie about Tony and Pete. Trying to make him feel like he belongs. Like she'd already adopted him. Scary thought, that, being adopted by Jackie Tyler. Him with the big ears would've laughed himself silly. That, or thrown himself into the nearest black hole if he'd known the future. 

He concludes this still could be an adventure. The one adventure he'd never been able to have before. Right up until he got the TARDIS coral grown and ready. Then everything would be right as rain. The Doctor and Rose in the TARDIS, as it was meant to be. If she'll ever forgive them. Both of him. 

He looks over and sees her eying him pensively. He forces a grin and gives her two thumbs up, getting a small smile in return. 

 

Jackie watches the man across from her in the helicopter, sitting next to her daughter. Wondering how long before disaster strikes and he breaks Rose's heart and leaves her to pick up the pieces. Again. The other Doctor implied he was dangerous, but she didn't see that. More lost and bewildered than anything. From what she saw, he was more like that first one, the broody Northern git that blew her daughter up in Number 10. God, not again, she hoped. But she would forgive him that. She wouldn't have her Tony or Pete, much less Rose if it weren't for that daft alien. She could stand him, as long as he didn't hurt Rose again. She'd have to kill him for that, if he hurt her. And Rose, she'd have to understand herself. Accept him, even if there were two of him and this one was a bit different. She knew what that was like, with this Pete. They'd had their own difficulties at first, but got through it. Him losing his own Jackie, and all. They'd come to love each other in spite of and because of the differences. 

No matter, they'd have to focus on the practical things, and soon. He'd need clothes. And a real, proper name. There was Prince, Madonna, and Cher, but not like he'd be able to pull off 'Doctor' without attracting too much attention. The paparazzi would have a field day! He'd get enough because of his ties to them, because of Vitex and Torchwood. And Torchwood already knew who he was, somewhat. Or at least, they knew of the other him. This was going to be bloody hard explaining this one to Pete, bad enough her following Mickey and Rose through the Dimension Cannon. And Mickey staying back in the other Universe, as well. It wouldn't be the same without him. So much changing at once. Not like they'd expected Rose to come back, either. 

 

At that one manic grin, she knew it was a Doctor. Not her Doctor, but somewhat like him. Like a parallel version. A parallel Doctor for a parallel world. But how long before he left her again, no matter the excuse? He always said he didn't do domestic. How was he going to handle living in a box with windows, doors and the dreaded carpeting for the next 40 or 50 years? Or a mortgage, at that. Especially if he couldn't manage to grow his coral to avoid the prospects of living in something that wasn't bigger on the inside. 

Rose sighed, grateful no one could hear her with the headsets on. She closed her eyes as tears threatened to fall again. All those years, four of them spent jumping from one Universe to another, searching for the Doctor to warn him what was coming and hoping he'd have the solution. Here she was, back where she never thought she'd be again. But at least she wasn't alone; she had a Doctor, sort of. Or at least a clone of the original. Whoever this one ended up being. He said he loved her, but she didn't know him. Not like he seemed to know her. And wouldn't loving him be a betrayal of the proper Doctor? She wasn't that shallow. And she was still so angry at Him for abandoning her here in this universe again. And there was so much to process, it was going to take time. Who knows what effects the mixture of Donna and Time Lord would have on him.


	2. Chapter 2

2  
A start.....

Pete was waiting in front of the Tyler mansion with a little boy that could only be Tony in his arms. The little blonde toddler was waving excitedly and yelling, "Mummy! Rose!" at the top of his lungs as they exited the helicopter. Pete looked more relieved than anything when Jackie ran to her husband and young son. He had just kissed and hugged his wife when he noticed Rose - and her companion.

"Rose, a wonderful surprise! Mission successful, I take it. And Doctor! Stopped in for a visit, before you two take off for the stars again?" 

There was an awkward pause as the Doctor tugged his ear, rubbed his neck, hoping for a reprieve even as he drawled, "Well...." Launching into explanations this early was not on his agenda, especially when he was this tired and shouldn't he have thought this out on the way here? Pete being the head of Torchwood and all. Old and thick, he thought as thankfully, Rose interrupted. 

"This would be best to be explained later, and behind closed doors. Classified information and the like. Plus we're all famished and knackered... it's been a bit chaotic." 

With that she'd marched towards the front door, the Doctor following in her wake until they got inside. There, in the plush foyer, were half a dozen people, some of whom seemed familiar and mostly male. A brief stir of jealousy even as one of the men, gruff looking fellow and a bit short, said, "Who the hell are you and where's Mickey?"

"Hello, I'm the Doctor," he replied, trying for the usual cheery response. Seeing that that wasn't looking helpful he glanced around, seeing Rose talking to someone atleast familiar. 

"Are you really him, then, the almighty Time Lord? " The man's tone was baiting, challenging. "Where's your fancy ship, then?"

Straight into a pissing contest already? You've got to be kidding me!

"What? Yeah, oh, Rassilon. Rose! Your little friend here.." And oh how the mighty have fallen, less than a twelve hours and already looking for a rescue from some stupid apes. Must be bloody Torchwood. 

Rose turned back in time to see Owen, her field team medic, confronting the Doctor, who was starting to babble as a sign of panic. 

"Well, I'm a him, if you mean the gender specific term. Definitely male. If you're referring to one of those primitive avatars your species calls God, nope not in the least. But then, that depends on which species on which planet you mean, allowing for cultural differences between the definition of 'God'.....Oh! Jake, long time no see! Still got the van?" the Doctor said, switching topics and sending a flurry of words in hopes to distract the man glaring up at him with open distrust. He babbled away, while wondering if this was a trap and the dissection tables were already being prepared with his name on them. He'd noticed the Torchwood badges clipped onto bullet proof vests and the holstered weapons they all seemed to be carrying. 

Rose rolled her eyes as she turned back and pulled the Doctor away from Owen, cutting off the arguments with a few quick answers that they'd have to put up with until she had more time. 

"Yeah, it's him, I'll explain later since I'm too knackered to deal with all this. Stand down, it's not exactly an invasion."

Owen scowled even harder than before and scoffed, "If it is him, trouble follows this one and obviously things didn't go to plan, what with you turning up in Norway. Yeah, the stars are back again, but you said you weren't coming back and where the hell is Smith? "

Rose stomped a foot in frustration, pushing her hair behind her ear. Wishing Owen would just drop it. "I'll explain it when I'm back in the office, Owen. Not now." 

Not exactly pacified, the field agents shuffled out when Jake suggested they let Rose be, heading back to their SUV in the driveway and saluting Pete as they departed. 

One crisis momentarily diverted, Rose pushed the Doctor towards the main stairway. "Come on, lets get you settled in a guest room. You need a shower and you're probably tired too. And food, your stomach's been growling since the Channel."

 

The shower was an unusual experience, seeing as he couldn't find a comfortable temperature setting. Finding a totally different temperature tolerance must be from the human genetics mixed in. And why hadn't they evolved or genetically engineered out body odor?! 

System analysis, incomplete enough to worry him but enough to let him know he'd ended up with a human endocrine system. Bloody hell. Human hormones. That lot had no control over body temperature, autonomic responses or anything else important. Nervous system- worse. There goes the superior pain tolerance. And most of the superior biology in general. Just flipping cute. 

Worst of all, when he got himself dried off and reached for his suit, it was gone. A t-shirt and pair of tracksuit bottoms several sizes too large were in its place. That had induced an all out panic as he ran out of the en suite, searching frantically for his own things. The coral was in the pocket of the jacket and other stuff - all that he owned, really. 

Finding his suit within an armoire, draped over a clothes hanger, he was relieved. Relieved enough to put on the clean clothes left for him. Not that he minded the clean clothes, considering the suit hadn't been cleaned before he'd thrown it on and between Davros' energy bolt and that beach, it was already worse for wear. And apparently he was cursed with the human reaction to stressors: sweating. Wizard. 

Probably why Jackie had handed him something he identified as antiperspirant in the form of aluminum chlorohydrate, while saying, "No smelly aliens allowed." 

That had brought another change to his immediate attention. Mostly human taste buds. Couldn't do a complete chemical analysis by taste anymore. Total rubbish, that. Ruddy primitive human biology. Complete bollocks. 

On top of that, the suit was rather uncomfortable. Skin is way more sensitive now, he mused, pulling on the t-shirt and glancing in the mirror over the bathroom vanity. 

Same face and everything. A bit pale and drawn looking, but destroying an entire race was bound to leave some outward traces. The first time, he'd ended up wearing leather and trying to get caught at Krakatoa. Nothing to do about the hair- that was bound to do as it willed without hair gel. No hiding that cowlick, either. 

He closed his eyes, leaning on the vanity as the full implications started to set in. He could have his own TARDIS within a year, but unless the effects of the Metacrisis stabilized and the clarity came back, he'd be flying blind almost. Just enough Time sense to not need a watch, but he had no clue what year it was here and the timelines were almost invisible. Mucking about in the Vortex like that would be a total disaster. Paradoxes and reapers galore. Just wizard. Especially if the new TARDIS was half as temperamental as the last. 

Conclusion: remaining earth bound might be the only option. That thought was immediately discarded. Nope. Not happening. Trapped on Pete's World with humans, no adventures, no running for your life... with or without Rose, that would be plain awful. Just because he no longer had multiple lives didn't mean he was going to bin it all. A year or so of doing domestic was going to be bad enough.

Hopefully he could win Rose over before then. Insecurities about abilities would have to be set aside. He'd be rubbish as a human- she'd be running screaming within two months. Martha had wanted to throttle him during his stint as John Smith. 

Something he wasn't looking forward to explaining to Rose. Joan Redfern. Somehow the excuse of not being himself seemed to fall flat. "Don't blame me, I was human at the time. Unlike now, where my memory is intact and I'm only half human," wouldn't go over well. Like a lead balloon. Or a lead zeppelin, since this is Pete's World. Oooh, wonder if they still exist in this universe. Great music. And Ian Dury, should look him up, too. 

List of things to not attempt in the new TARDIS: no repeats of that trip. Getting another version of Torchwood out for his blood wasn't on his agenda. 

Really, this whole human thing was going to be weird. Especially with the fact there was enough Time Lord in the mix to confuse things. He had fuzzy memories of being John Smith, hiding from the Family of Blood. But at that time he hadn't had anything to compare it to, with the Chameleon Arch having overwritten everything else. Now there were things he suspected were from Donna.

 

Jackie had dismissed the staff, preferring to cook a light meal herself. It was not much more than beans on toast, since no one really had an appetite after all this. Pete had been entertaining Tony while Rose and the Doctor were getting cleaned up. 

Rose mostly pushed her food around her plate while himself seemed to be eating mechanically while his eyes darted around everywhere. The poor thing looked like he'd bolt if someone so much as said "boo". She couldn't help but feel sorry for him when he'd appeared by the dining room table clean, clearly exhausted, and his appearance not helped by the clothes that hung off him like he was a mere clothes hanger. 

Thank goodness for the drawstring on those tracksuit bottoms, or they'd be seeing more of him than was appropriate. He already looked half done in, with his hair in his eyes and being so pale his freckles were prominent. 

Finally, Pete cleared his throat. "You're welcome to stay as long as you wish, Doctor," he said. "It's the least we can do, considering. Torchwood will be able to provide you with your transition into society, getting you all the neccessary paperwork and identification necessary to blending in. Once you've chosen a name, that is."

That got a reaction as his head snapped up, eyes glaring down his nose as he stared at Pete, stating flatly, "I've got a name. It's done quite fine for centuries."

Pete sighed. "That's well and good, but if you're staying here," he said, voice trailing off as he realized the Doctor wasn't likely to back down. 

"Look, you've got to tell me, what the hell is going on here. Where's Mickey, the TARDIS and why exactly are you here? We didn't expect to see you, or Rose again. Not that we're not thrilled, but did something go wrong?" He looked at Rose as he spoke, hoping to get her explanation, which was likely to make more sense. Or at least be more understandable. No such luck, as the Doctor started to speak, the tension of moments before forgotten. 

"Wrong? No, it was molte bene, fantastic! Stopped Davros, defeated the Daleks, prevented the reality bomb, all that. Ended up with two of me. That bit went a little wrong. Complete accident, part human. Total rubbish, that. It'll take a bit of getting used to- the aging part. Me, getting old! What a lark!"

Pete jumped on the most important bit out of the whole schpeel, asking, "Two of you? How?" The Doctor's explanation made absolutely no sense to anyone but himself, but Pete quickly gathered they'd have a version of the Doctor here. A possible asset. The offer of a job at Torchwood was met with a strange, considering look from the Doctor and an unusual one from Rose. "Rose, will that be a problem?"

All she could think was the impending disaster. The Oncoming Storm, getting a job? For Torchwood, nonetheless? He'd violate all the protocols, terrify the bureaucracy, and trample the chain of command. This was bound to go pear-shaped, fast. 

"Not at all, Dad," she lied, avoiding the look from the Doctor. 

He caught her hesitation and said, "Just give me a chance to settle in for a few days before I decide anything. Get acclaimated, to say. Been a lot of changes and all."

"Of course, " Pete said with understanding. 

"Wouldn't expect anything else. Take a week to recover, both of you," he said, including Rose in that. "Give us a chance to come up with a back story on your sudden appearance. People here are aware of extraterrestrial life, but they're still on edge after the Cybermen. There were a lot of lives lost during that time."

At this point, Jackie put down her foot about talking shop at the table, saying it could wait until a more appropriate time. The rest of the meal was eaten in a weary silence, even Jackie being to worn out for conversation. Rose was relieved and soon said her good nights, heading for her bed, the Doctor following, longing for a decent night's rest. Without having to try figuring out the implications of what all this meant and the confusion over identities. 

 

Jackie had given him a room next to Rose's, correctly assuming he wouldn't want to be far. He was almost stumbling as he walked up the stairs and down the carpeted hallway, stopping by his door to lean against the wall. 

"So," she said slowly, fumbling for safe words that wouldn't complicate things more than they already were. 

"Yeah, " he drawled out, running a hand through his hair. Funny how he'd only run out of things to say when dealing with Rose. "This is all so new...and weird. I mean, look at all the carpeting here! It's mad!"

"Mum always did want carpeting, " she said, glad that home decorative styles was the topic. Safe subject for a conversation, it was. No having to sort out the messy bits that she hadn't even figured out yet. Like where they were going to go from here. It had been a long time since Canary Wharf, for both of them. Considering she wasn't even sure who he really was. Not yet. And it was going to be hard getting over the whole rejection on the beach. If she could. No sense in taking it out on him, though, whoever he really was. 

He hesitated, but finally spoke, uncertainty making his voice faint. "I could change my name, come up with a new name for a new new new me. If you want, that is. If it won't remind you too much of...Him. Other me, that is. I know you're disappointed, wanting the whole two hearts, regeneration, and space time traveling bit." 

He was trying not to sound to desperate, too pleading, but he was not going to give up. Not going to let the rest of his self image to go by the wayside. No regenerations and a change in genetics wasn't going to make him give up who he intrinsically was. Even if there was a lot of Donna thrown into the mixture. 

"All I really know, besides that, " he continued. "I love you, like I said on the beach. I don't know if you can, well, love me. I meant what I said, and I'll stay with you. Not going to leave you...unless you want me to, that is. I'd understand, I would, with all you've put up with. I'm still me. I'm still him. I'm the one who told you to 'Run' in that basement..." 

Rose stopped his rambling with a finger on his lips, halting the babble for a moment. She smiled to take the sting out of the gesture. 

"Let's take it slow, yeah? Give me some time to work this through and get my head on straight. I'm not going to run you off, because you're the one that stayed. But let's be just be friends for now. See how it goes. No hasty decisions, we both need some rest. Let's leave this for another time, OK?"

He smiled, hopeful since it was not an outright rejection. "Good night, Rose Tyler. See you in the morning," he said as he slipped into his room, relieved that it hadn't been an outright disaster, either. Even if he'd ended up saying more than he intended. Donna again. 

 

He slept for almost an hour before he woke in a sweat, bedding tangled around him and gasping for breath, trying to stave off the remnants from the nightmare. Nightmares were nothing new, he thought with a groan. Just a lot more vivid without the TARDIS to buffer the effects. And one thing was clear with his new found humanity- he was going to require a lot more than a couple hours of sleep per week. Without the psychic bond with the TARDIS to help dampen the flashbacks and nightmares, this was going to get interesting. Fast. 

He rolled over, straightening the blankets and pillows as he tried to forget the Nightmare Child and Davros calling him the "Destroyer of Worlds". So apt. Another dose of guilt he'd have to live with. He'd already wiped out the Daleks several times over, what was a few million more? He'd done the same to his own planet, not something he'd be getting over any time soon. Never, now. Not enough years left in his life for that. Doubtful even the full Time Lord would, at that. Genocide does seem to have the effect of warping your whole outlook on things. But that can't be too, bad can it? Stuck here on the slow path with Rose. Even if they're once again separated by a wall. At least this time she's just in a separate room, not an entirely different universe.  
.


	3. Chapter 3

3  
Long night....

After the nightmare, there was too much on his mind. Too much to consider. He wasn't fond of the idea of taking a different name, not unless Rose asked. And that would not be easy, even if she insisted. Then there was the offer of a job at Torchwood. It was one way to stave off the boredom, at least. And they might have things he could use for the new TARDIS. Bits and bobs they'd be better off not having. Humans with helmic regulators and dimensional stabilizers would be a disaster. Bad enough with the Dimension Cannon. He'd have to get rid of that before someone too smart for their own good did even more damage. They already had global warming. No good adding holes into the void to the mix. He'd have to scan for anything that might've fallen through from the Void, thanks to the prior uses of said Cannon. Who knew what nasties could be showing up, causing havoc. There was a lot worse than Cybermen and Daleks out there. Things he didn't even want to think about. 

Before he'd been restless enough to start pacing, trying to work off the anxiety. Sleep wasn't going to come easy. Thinking, also of the first things he'd actually need in this new life. Clothes were going to be a priority, with no wardrobe to provide for him yet, he thought as he sat on the floor by the window. Socks, especially. No chance to grab any before, what with the TARDIS in the middle of being burned up and Davros set on destroying all of reality that wasn't a Dalek. 

He sat there watching the stars for hours, looking for the differences in the constellations present from his original universe. There didn't seem to be much change, as far as he could tell. Then again, the eye sight seemed to be a little weaker- might actually need those glasses this time. Absolute rubbish, it was. Something else to adjust to. Atleast it wasn't new teeth. That part was always weird. Never again. Unless he ended up going toothless in his old age. There's another thing to worry about. Not now, he told himself. Can't go getting yourself in a fit over the inevitable. Never get any sleep sweating the small stuff, I won't.

 

 

Jackie ended up finding him curled up on the floor by the same window, after she'd grown concerned that he hadn't appeared at breakfast. She was even more concerned at getting no reaction to knocking on the door multiple times. He was mumbling in his sleep and looking worse than the night before, like he'd barely slept at all. No wonder, sleeping in that position, with a perfectly good mattress going to waste. Poor waif, she thought. All lost without that box of his. No matter, time's wasting and he'll miss out on the rest of the day. "Come on, get up. People here sleep in beds, not on floors. Time for breakfast," she called out. 

He sat bolt upright, looking around in confusion. "What? Where's my TARDIS? Where the hell am I?" he blurted out, before memory kicked in. Confusion became delight as he said, "On my word, Jackie Tyler. Never thought I'd be happy to see you in the morning. Where's Rose?" 

"She's eating breakfast, like a normal person would have at this hour. Its already half nine, lazy bones," she protested. "You'll need to go shopping today, you need clothes," she continued, averting her eyes as the tracksuit bottoms started to slip when he jumped to his feet. 

Grabbing the waistband and pulling them up with a mischievous smile, he said, "Good idea. Got any bananas? Or oatmeal. Oooh, those would be good together. Bananas with oatmeal. Brilliant!" 

"Should do, " she said, wondering why anyone would be that enthusiastic about fruit, but glad he seemed somewhat normal. For him, that was. 

"Great! Allons-y!" he shouted as he ran out the bedroom door. 

Shaking her head, she followed, muttering, "Bloody daft alien. All that, and he's still a nutter. I don't know what Rose was thinking on that one."


	4. Chapter 4

 

4

Pear-shaped..... 

She had seen it when he first bounced into the breakfast nook. The beaming smile, the enthusiasm for the bananas her Mum brought out, the way he immediately ingratiated himself to her 4 year old brother Tony. All a strained front to disguise his inner thoughts. She knew the proper Doctor well enough to have called him on it at one time. This one, stubble cheeked and obviously sleep deprived, hadn't fooled her a bit. But she had been too raw herself to tell him, "Bullshit, Doctor. Spill it." Especially since it was one issue she didn't want to confront with her mother and Tony looking on. Issues were something they were masters at avoiding. Unless they absolutely had to. But then, that was the original Doctor. 

She had played along with the game, exchanging friendly banter while hiding her own concerns. He had worried her. She had meant it when she said let's be friends. He might not be her Doctor, only a Doctor, but the similarities left her with concerns because of them. So she slipped into the facade of cheerful camaraderie, wondering when the cracks in the mask he wore would begin to show, hoping he'd be open enough to let her help. The proper Doctor said he needed her, and she'd do her best, no matter the consequences. 

After breakfast Jackie had suggested they hit the shops, since getting this Doctor his own clothes was a priority. "Can't keep wearing Pete's clothes, not with you being so skinny, and that suit of yours needs a washing," she had said pointedly. 

They had taken her suggestion and Rose had called round for the car, not wanting to drive her own yet until she'd had more rest. Also it had been a chance to point out some of the differences between the universes, and observe the Doctor's reactions. He had been curious and babbled a mile a minute as he looked out the windows, reassured her that he might be who he claimed to be. An assurance that continued when they pulled up in front of the shop. "Right back where we started, eh?" he had said with a chuckle. His expression then turned to bemusement quickly. "Is it just me, or is the logo different," he'd asked then, taking in the Henrik's sign. 

"It's a different script style," she'd replied. "And the store's a bit larger. This one expanded like the one in our original universe had planned. Until you blew it up, that is."

"Yeah, no choice really. Autons and all. But I'll do my best to leave this one intact," he'd said as they entered. 

 

It had started well, but after an hour he'd only picked out a package of boxer briefs, multiple packages of socks, and three pairs of trainers. She managed to convince him he needed more than that, cajoling him gently when he stared at her stubbornly. "I'll be fine, Rose. Just until I get my TARDIS grown, then I'll have my old wardrobe again," he had insisted.

"That could take a year, your suit will wear out long before then," she said reasonably, patiently. She'd hoped he wouldn't get too difficult about that. "Plus you'll need other clothes, everyday things. Pajamas, a coat. You'll get cold if you go outside in the winter, and I saw you shivering back in Norway."

Rose avoided the thoughts Norway brought to mind, focused on the here and now instead. Pleaded silently for him to just accept things as they were for now. When he sighed, sounding defeated, she felt a small pang of remorse. Even if he wasn't quite her pinstriped Doctor, he had started to remind her at times of her first Doctor. Especially when he had picked out a leather coat, long, though. Like the fawn colored one the other Doctor was so fond of. She doesn't miss the implications. Leather armor against the onslaught of the universes, she had thought then. He finally picked out a few things from the racks, barely glancing at them and not bothering to try them on. Gone was the blustering cheerfulness, replaced with a steely determination. 

"It's a shop with clothing racks, not the Dalek fleet," she said, rolling her eyes at his theatrics. "It's not the end of the world, just clothes shopping. You'll be alright, yeah? Don't worry, you can bin it all once you get your own TARDIS," she continued, trying to reassure him.

He had looked at her then, the beginnings of the Oncoming Storm fading into a look of melancholy that broke her heart a little. She could hear the self doubt and tinges of fear in his voice when he spoke. "I just...It's a lot to deal with, all this. Me in a shop, shopping. Not planting explosives, even. No running for lives...Oh my giddy aunt, it's like letting go. Letting go of the past, myself, what I used to be....." 

The moment of naked vulnerability was quickly replaced with an enthusiastic, "Oooh, sunglasses! Brainy specs tinted to protect the optical nerves and retinas against harmful ultraviolet radiation," he chirped as the mask slammed back into place. As suddenly as it had dropped in the first place. 

By the time they're done shopping and paying for everything, it's after lunch time and they stop at a chippy, where he eats without really noticing the food. Just like the night before. He was watching the people passing by outside and commenting idly, though she could tell he was on autopilot. Talking to cover the fact he was not really paying attention to anything. Casting worried glances at the zeppelins passing overhead. Not looking at her unless he thought she was not going to see his looks.

He had been hesitant, she'd noticed, his own conflicting feelings mirroring her own. "It took me awhile to get used to seeing them, too," she had said as an icebreaker, zeroing in on the safest thing to say. He had given her a grateful smile, as he said, "The whole thing is a bit weird. Blocking the view of the sky."

"More energy efficient, atleast. Even if they are a bit too slow for travelling long distances. They still have planes for that here. People go on air ship cruises for holiday. We could do that if you want, travel a bit," she had said hopefully. 

He'd quirked an eyebrow at that. 

"What, ride on one of those floating disasters waiting to happen? Hindenburg, Rose? You're jeopardy friendly and I'm... well me. No repeat of the whole 'Oh the humanity,' again. Not bloody happening. Not again. Did that one once before. "

"Before? He was there when the actual Hindenburg exploded? When?" 

He had paused, a shadow crossing his face, as he said shortly, "After the Time War. Before you met me. After the Titanic."

He chose to ignore the way she differentiated between him and his other self, despite the stirrings of rage and frustration. Can't grab that bull by the horns now. Not in a public restaurant, with a couple dozen people looking on. 

"With my luck, it'd actually work this time," he muttered to himself in an undertone. 

She had overheard him, but also chose to ignore it, asking him instead if either he or the Doctor had known Mickey was going to stay behind. 

"No, though can't say I was surprised. Did you?" he replied, all hints of his emotions firmly hidden in his conversational tone. 

"Sorta. His gran died a couple years back and he was kinda restless after. We were still mates, and he was brilliant at Torchwood. Redid most of the computer systems, upgraded the security software, and made the building security tighter." At his look of concern and distrust, she had added, "Torchwood may be in the public's knowledge and completely aboveboard, but there's still some dangerous things people shouldn't have open access to. There's dangerous artifacts that fall through the rift and occasionally we have to contain certain threats. Like weevils," she says. "Or to protect vulnerable species from the general population," she quickly added when she saw his head rear back and mouth start to open. Curtailing that argument for another time and defending Torchwood. 

Something she'd never imagined, defending Torchwood to the Doctor, or any version of him, that is. Though his reaction was exactly the same as she figured the proper Doctor would've had in his place. She almost resented having to defend her workplace- and herself by proxy - to him. Four years of searching all of reality for him - or the other him, that is - is a long time. A long time that was frequently heartbreaking and brutal. He'd had no right to judge now, not without having been there. Not without seeing what she'd seen. 

He seemed to pick up on her anger and said softly, "Sorry. Shouldn't get all huffy. We wouldn't be here, if it wasn't.... How bad was it?" 

She had faked a smile. "It was worth it in end," she'd said simply, not elaborating, even as the memory of that alternate reality centered around one Donna Noble flashed through her mind. Stamping down the mental image of a figure on a stretcher, a limp arm falling as a sonic screwdriver fell from dead fingers, she had stood. "Come on then, we should be getting back soon. It's getting late and we should be moving on before Mum calls in a panic, wondering if we've been kidnapped by aliens," she said with a lightness she hadn't felt.

"Let's, beat feet then," he had said while he scrambled from the booth, also with a false cheer that didn't reflect his inner feelings either. Dancing around the issues is an old and familiar thing for him, even if it's not the type of dancing he'd hoped to be doing. Same old shit, just a different day. Different me and different universe, actually. The Doctor and Rose, avoiding the important stuff, as it should be, he had thought sarcastically. Some things never change. Just wizard.


	5. Chapter 5

.

 

5  
It had taken longer than Rose had expected, since they'd stopped for a few more bits and bobs before returning to what Mickey had jokingly called "the Tyler Estate." A name that had stuck, she had thought, thinking of the friend she would never see again. When he'd stepped off the TARDIS, they'd both imagined they'd see each other again. That her and the Doctor would be popping in for visits with Jack, Mickey and Sarah Jane. Not that she'd be left here again with the other Doctor. If they'd only known... 

 

The Doctor went upstairs to put away his new clothes and hastily changed, swapping the t-shirt for a button down oxford before going back downstairs. Just as he made it to the bottom of the stairs he met Pete, who was returning from a day at Torchwood. Pete held an envelope in one hand, proffering it as he invited the Doctor into his home office for a talk. Mutely, the Doctor nodded and followed, wondering what this was all about. 

"We need some information, alias, things like that to get you a birth certificate, heath card, identification. The important papers you'll need to fit into society," Pete says after they've seated themselves in the office. 

The Doctor eyes the envelope he's just been handed, raising a quizzical eyebrow at Pete. "That's all well and good, but I have a perfectly good name, Pete," he says in a carefully measured tone. 

"Atleast for the official paperwork, Doctor. Won't change anything, by my account. You're still the Doctor. Don't you have anything else...A name your own people called you?" Pete asks, trying to sound reasonable. 

"Nothing you lot could pronounce," he says softly, eyes distant. "Nothing I'd even recognize after all this time. It's been centuries really, since I've been called anything else. Just the Doctor." 

"But you've been on earth for enough to know that certain groups, bureaucrats for example, like names, not just 'the Doctor'. Be rough getting you a driving license with that," Pete jokes, managing to hold onto his patience. 

"Fine, then. John Smith," the Doctor says in a huffy tone. 

Pete opens his mouth to protest, but thinks better of it. Getting him to choose a less generic moniker is likely to be impossible, as difficult as it had been to get that out of him. Past experience with the Doctor has left him with a knowledge of how stubborn the man can be. There may be two of them now, but this man or alien, he doesn't seem much different. Even if he's a little harder to read. 

Pete takes a different tack, asking, "You can manage something as mundane as a car, I assume? Or should I be getting you a bus pass?"

The Doctor smiles. "Yeah, had me a lovely roadster once, yellow it was. Bessie. Back when I worked for UNIT, all those years ago. On the parallel world, that is. Of course. Long story that, even if it's a bit like now in some ways, and absolutely nothing alike in others. But I can drive. Did a spot of that, chasing a bioform that resembled a giant wasp. Met Agatha Christie, I did. Wonderful lady. But much simpler than a TARDIS. Only three dimensions and not in the least dimensionally transcendental," he mused. 

Pete laughs, feeling the formally palpable tension in the room ease. "Have you tried navigating the A1?" he quips. "And parking in the city can be hard to come by. Can't just leave it anywhere you like, like you did with your box. You'll go bankrupt with the fines from the violations, if you do."

"Nah, rig a perception filter. I'll just cobble one together from the spare parts you've got hiding in Torchwood. Or have Jake give me pointers on avoiding the fuzz," he says with a wink. "I'll be the newest London's most wanted for parking tickets." He's grateful Pete's not going to push the issue and jokes along, wondering what else is on Pete's mind. Identity is important, but not enough to warrant the closed door and privacy. Whatever it is, it's something Pete doesn't want to approach with the rest of the family looking on. 

Pete gauges that the moment is never going to get better, so postponing the issue isn't going to help. "Doctor, there's some regulations I have to mention. It's why the identity business is so important. I tried to get around them, but even as director of Torchwood I don't have that much clout," he begins, eying the Doctor steadily, trying to find words that are less provocative.

Immediately a wary look comes over the Doctor's face, a calculating look in his eyes. "Spill it, Pete," he says gruffly, schooling his features into a bland look of resignation. 

Pete's momentarily impressed by his self control, even if he'd noticed the flash of fear in those eyes before they hardened in determination. Wouldn't call him a coward, he thought. Even in a situation where he's totally vulnerable and out of control. "Off world refugees are required to report for a medical exam and to be registered in the database. I didn't think it would apply in your case, but you're already a known entity here. Rumors, mostly, but your reputation precedes you, almost. You're well known at the highest levels of National Security. And this is the Ministry of Defense protocols. You're not the only one who's under these guidelines," Pete says, voice serious but kind. 

The Doctor has almost expected something of the like- humans being as xenophobic as they were in this century. Atleast it wasn't a direct threat of incarceration, with dissection for an aperitif. "Are there many?" he asks softly, hoping that he's not the only non human stuck on this rock, that he's not the only one with a classified dossier with his name on it that's gathering dust in some underground archive. 

Pete breathes out in relief, glad the burst of indignant outrage he's expected doesn't seem to be coming. He sends a silent thanks to the Doctor as he continues. "There are some. Refugees from wars on their planets, ones who've crash landed and we haven't been able to get them home. Something you might be able to help with. None of us are really qualified at repairing spacecraft and Rose said once you were always tinkering on your TARDIS before." 

"First in jiggery pokery, that's me. Always have had a mechanical bent," the Doctor says wryly.

"Really, Doctor, you'll be safe. The regulations are there for your own protection and everyone else's. Not that you're regarded as a threat, but because the rules are there for those who might have hidden hostile intentions. The information on the database aren't public knowledge. No risks of journalists or others getting ahold of them," Pete adds as a reassurance. He's seen the hint of the Doctor's lingering doubts. Not that he himself wouldn't be worrying if he was in his place. "Torchwood here is a different organization than the one you're familiar with. Less vigilante justice, more ambassadors to extraterrestrials than the planetary police."

"Not 'if it's alien, it's ours'?" the Doctor asks sardonically. He'll trust Pete's intentions, even if he doubts the others. Blindly jumping into a love affair with Torchwood is not on his agenda. 

"Only if its a weapon, or a threat to the safety of the human race. Unknown objects are also kept under lock until they've been identified and the assessment of risk is done. Another thing your assistance would be appreciated with," Pete adds. 

The Doctor smiles, not failing to notice that Pete's subtly reiterating his job offer from the night before. Or not so subtly, that is. Didn't get to be that successful or the head of Torchwood without persuasion skills, he didn't. Not that a Time Lord or even a partial one would be as susceptible to those skills. But what the hell, making nice wouldn't hurt. Better to be in close where it's easy to keep a watch on them, than an unfortunate bystander. Or left wondering what they were up to. "I said I'd consider it, Pete. As long as it won't be a problem for Rose. And it wouldn't be permanent, you realize. I'm hoping to get my own transportation back, at some point. With a little help, if I might ask."

Pete looks at him with consideration, watching the way the Doctor shifts on the sofa, sprawling himself into a more comfortable position. Meanwhile, he wonders what on earth the Doctor could possibly want. Pointers on relationships? Finding his own flat?

"Anything to help, Doctor. It's the least I can do, any of us. Considering what you've done for all of us, myself especially. You and your interdimensional dating service, " he says with a chuckle. "My family is living proof at its success, and is something that leaves me in your debt."

The Doctor eyes him wonderingly, a slow smile creeping across his features. "So you have no doubts then? You know who I am?"

"Of course," Pete snorts. "You're the Doctor." 

"Even if there's two of me suddenly? One that's partly human?" 

"I've got a bit of perspective when it comes to the strange and unusual, Doctor," he says wryly. "Torchwood. I'm married to a second Jackie Tyler. All that."

The Doctor chortles. "Braver man than I, you are. Completely mad, too. I'd have run the first time around, not go blithely tripping in for a second round. But that's humans for you. Do the most illogical things for sentimental reasons, you do. Full of hope and completely barmy."

"Pot, meet kettle, Doctor. You're a bit of an odd duck yourself."

"Yeah, well," he drawls out, suddenly sobering. He picks at the tassels on a sofa cushion, choosing his words carefully. What he had to say next was more revealing than he had told anyone yet living and the compulsion to speak was strong. Talking and meaning something was a new urge. Must be Donna's influence again. She's always spoke her mind and damn the consequences. So be it. 

Oh Donna, he thinks with a momentary pang. You were so brilliant and even you had to have known what the outcome would be, with that great intellect you gained.

"Here goes nothing, " he says, putting off his mourning for later. "I look like him because I am him, in the ways that matter in the long run. All the same memories, same knowledge, same everything. Except, I've only got one heart. I'll age like a human, even if I'm only partly one. There's other differences, some that I'm still finding out about myself. Some senses aren't what they used to be, less keen. Can't see the Time Lines as well as I used to, bit foggy on that. Inner chronometer is off, too. Controlling time might not even be possible for me now. Don't really know the full extent, things are still cooking inside. Might take awhile for all the regeneration energy to settle down, get everything into place. I'm still me, but this version of me....Well, it's different. Don't know how it'll turn out. Regeneration is a dodgy process and this, this is unheard of. Never been another like me. Not in any universe. It's all new to me, too."

Pete listens closely, despite some things that don't make any more sense on this second explanation. Others just remind him that the man lolling on the settee in his office is definitely an alien. "You're not alone, Doctor. For all the strangeness of this, you've still got friends that'll help you through the transition as best we can," he says reassuringly. 

"Thanks. Means a lot, you know, " the Doctor says. And it does, more than Pete could possibly know. Even if he's got his doubts how effective the help could be, he appreciates the sentiments behind the words. 

Pete stands and stretches, a friendly smile appearing on his face as he says, "Enough serious talk for today, Doctor. Join me in a beer to unwind?"

"Why the hell not? Might as well put this new liver to some use, run it through it's paces as it were," he replies with a smile, glad the conversation is past.

.


	6. Chapter 6

6

Later....

He managed to make a right cock up of the evening, reminding him just why he used to be so vehement about not doing domestic. Things always ended up getting so messy. And it had started out so well, he thought, while sitting by the bedroom window. Perfectly fine, good, even molte bene, by human standards. He drank a couple beers with Pete before dinner, engaged in smooth conversation during dinner, even played with Tony after dinner. All while trying to prove to Rose he could do the whole domestic thingy. What laugh.

Maybe telling Tony about the Slitheen while relating some of his adventures wasn't such a good idea. A hypothesis blatantly proven when the little boy ran screaming when Mabel the cook had come in to let Jackie know she'd be a bit late tomorrow, due to a doctor's appointment. How was he supposed to know the tyke would assume all heavier than average humans were aliens in disguise? Or that pointing out that the woman in question was atleast a stone too light to be a Raxacorcofallipatorian in a skin suit would earn him a glare from the lady and a smack on the head from Jackie? No need to go getting all violent over the whole thing. He'd even tried pointing out that even Blon wouldn't have found Mabel a suitable specimen as an apology. 

Though, his befuddlement over the situation had seemed to amuse Rose. Good thing, that. Rose, his pink and yellow human. Or she was, once. Now, he didn't know. He hadn't missed her appraising looks, measuring him up, and most likely, she had found him wanting. But at least he'd made her eyes sparkle with suppressed laughter, even if it was only for a moment. He had told her he was the same man, that this was his one chance at an adventure he couldn't have had before, but how to explain the whole thing clearly wasn't something he'd been able to muddle out. How to tell her that he had changed a lot since the first time on Bad Wolf Bay wouldn't be easy. Talking about the whole Year That Never Was and the Master, watching everything he'd come to care about after the Time War torn away and destroyed before him, the unseen scars the year of captivity had left on him. Then the Pentallian, Midnight, or even the flashbacks from the Time War he's dealing with again. Wiping out the Daleks on the Crucible, no matter how he'd tried to deny the guilt, or the necessity of the action, had brought that all back. Right back, screaming in his dreams, putting him back to the state he was in when he met Rose. The price you pay for saving the Mulitiverses. 

Or how a man on a planet so far away, had put paid to an unimaginable dream come true, snuffing out another genetic anomaly named Jenny, his sort of daughter. How to say he was the man who never would anymore when he clearly had on the Crucible. General Cobb would've agreed with his actions, and that had rattled him to the core even more, realizing that. Except this time, no, "Did I mention it travels in time, too," was going to help. Not for another year at least, and what were the chances of that line working again? Took him a week to think of it last time and he'd been lucky the TARDIS had been cooperative that time, bringing him back within seconds of when he'd left. Or "Run" either. Run from what? Him, with his inner demons? Run from shoe sales, paperwork, mortgages or half price specials on laundry soap? Not bloody likely. 

Now things were wildly different. Rose was more experienced, less open minded, less credulous now. In other words, she'd grown up. And she was as magnificent and amazing as he'd foreseen all those years ago. And he'd... Well there wasn't any way to really explain the whole thing, was there? Hello, I'm the Doctor and yes, I abandoned you twice on the same beach, but I'm still here. I stayed. Even if I'm broken this time and why, oh why won't you believe me? If I could change back, I would, in a heartsbeat. If I could undo my own creation so you could have your dream I would, but I can't. I'm here, and yeah, the personality has changed, Donna's genetics have given me a predisposition to mood swings, but I'm still me! You always said I changed like the wind, I'm just more so now. Regular whirlwind, me. I can't help it. Just please, don't walk away. Don't just disregard me as a poor copy of myself. Botched regeneration, yeah? Remember last time, Pilot Fish, satsumas and all that? Neural inversion? Can't you understand, this is just like then, in a way? Except the tea isn't helping, must be too much for the Time Lord side, or too much human in the stew. And it's all cocked up...

Except he hadn't said any of this. Hadn't gotten enough Donna to overwrite that much of 900 plus years of Gallifreyan influence. All those years of repressed emotional responses, of holding it in until you couldn't anymore. Not for that, and not when he can already feel her pulling away from him. He'd felt it on the beach, and that was only 36 hours, 29 minutes and 43 seconds before. 

Being friends wasn't so bad, but not when he'd hoped for so much more. And not when it bloody hurt that she wouldn't believe him. If his newfound mortality hadn't weighed so heavily, maybe he wouldn't have felt so pressed for time. That and the fact he knew he needed her- because he did. He knew what he'd been like after the Time War. The months of dragging himself out the TARDIS doors – when he could even be bothered to, that is. The near suicidal missions he'd put himself on. Or even after Canary Wharf, daring the Daleks to kill him, much to Martha's horror in New York. Even Donna had said he needed someone to stop him. And what else had Rose ever been, but his reason to go on, his guide, his moral compass? She'd been his way to see the wonder of the universe again after so many centuries of been there, done that, almost need another TARDIS to keep the t-shirts in. And now she didn't even believe him. He hadn't missed the fact she hadn't called him by name even once. Even if she's still being kind, compassionate and basically Rose, she was not the same as she was before. Not as he had expected or even hoped for that much. And it's been tearing his single, lonely heart to pieces. Not that he even remotely deserved her, but that little human quality, hope, had crept in. Damnable, foolish hope. Should've known the universe wouldn't have been that kind. It never had been in all those long years, why would it have been now?

 

 

Thoughts like these haunt his mind at the late hour of 2:30 am. Hours where he dares not sleep, because of the flashes of the past that haunt him. Hours where other things slip through, that leave him fearing there's still a ghost of a connection to his other self that can only bleed through to his subconscious. Things that tell him that his Time Lord counterpart is having as bad a Time as he is, if not worse, with potentially greater consequences, where He's still got all of Time and Space at his disposal. Sounds in sequences of four suddenly terrify him, for reasons he can't easily explain. Add the dreams and his gut feelings about the other Doctor to the list of things to keep from Rose unless he absolutely has to. Add hoping that she doesn't ask the wrong questions to the list of things he's hoping to avoid unless he wants immediate disaster. Add all of that to the list of things she'll have to forgive him for. At least maybe she'll understand about Jenny, and Midnight. Maybe that is something he could possibly hope for. Not absolution, never that. Doesn't bloody deserve that, not for all the things he's done. But understanding, possibly. 

That is, if she will damn well listen to him, and not just focus all the sympathy on his other self. If ever he's had an inclination towards violence in any of his lives, he's got one now. If it's only to knock some sense into that Space Dunce of his other self. Because yes, those three words damn well needed saying and dumping me off here is going to go pear-shaped fast, you idiot Time Lord! And that sometimes, possibly most times, making other people's decisions is not only suitcases of bad on top of bad for an idea, but also high handed and arrogant, no less. How could the Time Lord have even thought that this was any kind of solution? That handing him off to Rose was even fair when he was, once again, a broken soldier. A broken soldier who was already showing the cracks worse than he ever had before. 

 

 

In the next room, Rose is just as sleepless, wrestling with her own thoughts. She wants to believe him, she does, but how can she, when it seems like a betrayal of the proper Doctor? When he says he's the same man, and he's more different and damaged than either of her Doctors? She has been with Torchwood long enough to see the signs. Been around enough field agents who've seen too much death and destruction and are left barely hanging by a thread. She knows when someone's already cracked inside, hasn't realised it themselves yet, and all that's left is the blowout. That and hoping that the collateral damage can be minimized. She has seen the haunted look in his eyes, similar to her first Doctor. But this one, this part human one, can't even completely disguise it, even if he's wearing his mask. She would try reaching out more if she wasn't so worn out and sad inside herself. She's mourning her Doctor and Mickey, even if she knows he's mourning so much himself. She's wondering what hell the Doctor went through after they were separated that left this copy that bears his memories so battered inside. But every time she wants to ask, something stops her. Either there's too many people around for what's probably best a private conversation, or she herself isn't ready. Because she's still wondering if the Doctor left her here again because she's made a mistake herself. 

Had he moved on with his life, like he'd told her to? Was it that blaster she had had in her hands when they met on that street? Or was it just because she was just a shopgirl, no matter that she's long since left the shop behind? Or that she's read too much into the whole damn thing this whole time, and he's left her here again to figure out her life? Either way, she's still not sure what to make of the other one. The body language is similar, if less certain at times. When he is not being overtly abrupt and angry in his movements, that is. His behavior in the shops earlier, the rapid mood swings, all hearkened to an actor momentarily forgetting their role, and just as quickly dropping back into their assumed character after. 

Then there's the difference in his voice. The added coarseness, the fact that he curses more than the other Doctor does and sounded a lot more like a certain temp from Chiswick. The way he'd said, "Come off it, sunshine. The old cow ain't nearly half heavy enough to hide a Slitheen inside. She'll need at least another week at the biscuits to do that," had almost killed her not to laugh. Rude, oh yes. He was rude, alright. But the eye rolling with hands on hips, definitely not the Doctor. Or glaring right back at her Mum, visibly biting back a retort without flinching when she'd slapped him? Definitely not the Doctor. Him muttering, "Bloody slap-happy cow" when her Mum left to go calm Tony down? Possibly the first Doctor. The comment of "Nine hundred years and this is my freaking reward, stuck on the same planet as Jackie Tyler, just flipping cute," even more so. 

Whoever he is, he is cheekier than the Doctor, is less intimidated of her mother, and even more confusing and rougher around the edges. No smooth operator there, no suave charmer who could insult people and leave them smiling right up until they finally caught on. This man seemed more likely to say his piece and let the chips fall as they may. 

 

The third day, Rose was experiencing cabin fever and went into Torchwood to make her report to her division head. On the books, the mission is a flat out success. The stars are back, all the anomalies are straightened out, no time lines are converging on any version of Donna Noble that they'd found. They'd thoroughly investigated the one in this universe, before discovering that alternate reality that centered around the one back in Universe Prime. Her and her whole family. Father converted by cybermen here, but otherwise, this one was just a temp from Chiswick, working at HC Clements- owned by Torchwood in this universe as well. 

As for her own reckoning, the jury was still out as to whether the mission had, in fact been a complete success. She'd come into work to avoid the other Doctor, as much as to deal with the anxiety that inactivity was causing. Wasn't her fault his paperwork and identification hadn't come in yet and leaving the mansion wasn't advisable, was it? Plus, he'd been moping in the back garden to notice her leave anyway. He hadn't talked much since the second night, hadn't appeared at breakfast, and was generally unsociable. Not outright hostile, just obviously not wanting company. He'd been up, pacing the floors at 3 in the morning, sonicking her laptop and surfing the net from 5 until 7, before abruptly going outside. He wouldn't even tell her what upset him, only gave her a slightly annoyed glance at her persistent questions. 

There have been times when he was like the Doctor, enthusiastic about the smallest things and babbling like mad. Other times he had a haunted look, like she'd seen on Platform One, watching the earth disintegrating as he told her of his own planet. What worries her the most is the ones of uncertainty and worst of all, fear. It is this that makes her doubt if what the Time Lord had said is true. The Doctor, the proper Doctor, wasn't so easily terrified and broken. She was still determined to try to help him, but how can she if he won't let her in? Much less even talk to her. Her Mum was already starting to worry, but even she's not brassy enough to get in his face to force an answer out of him. And she was not even sure if she wants those answers herself. Not yet at least. There's some truths that aren't ready to see the cold, hard light of day and words that neither of them were ready to say, nor hear. 

 

 

There was a loud round of applause when Rose stepped off the lift. Jake, Owen, Lane, and all of R&D were there to greet her, congratulating her on a job well done. 

"You did it, girl," Sally Henderson had gushed while hugging her. 

Jake and the others had clustered around. "We never thought to see you again, couldn't believe it when Jason on Comms said Director Tyler called in for a helicopter pick up in Bergen, of all places," Jake had said. "Sorry we jumped you at the mansion, but we had to see if it was really you." 

Rose had smiled. "I didn't exactly expect coming back myself, but things came out different than I had expected. And someone's got to keep an eye on you mugs, keep you all from messing it all up," she had said, teasing. 

Robinson beckoned her over after her colleagues and friends had finished welcoming her, nodding towards his office. They had both seated themselves on opposite sides of his desk. Robinson propped his chin on his hand, looking at her thoughtfully before sighing and shifting in his seat. "Your father's filled me in on some of it, but what's there that's not going to end up in the official report, Rose?" he had asked, ever so perceptive. 

Colin Robinson was a hard man to fool, one well versed in the reality that what went into the official paperwork was never the entire story. That forms filled out in triplicate could never encompass the full scope of events, no matter how many boxes to mark off the Records Division added on a standard form. "Mickey Smith had left a letter of resignation two weeks in advance of your final mission, pending on the success of your efforts to breach the correct universe," he had continued.

A pang of regret over things both said and unsaid had filled her as she thought of Mickey. "He'll be helpful with the recovery and clean up over there," she'd said. 

"That bad?" Robinson had asked with raised eyebrows. 

"Thousands dead, roads blocked by abandoned and burned out cars, neighborhoods with a heavy damage from the Daleks, shops looted by rioters. A lot of people missing and presumed dead, exterminated. It was bad. The Subwave network run by the alternate Harriet Jones was the only thing that gave the Doctor a chance at getting back. He had to trace the signal." 

Rose had told him about the events on the Crucible, the twenty seven planets and moons pulled out of orbit to power and transmit the signal from the reality bomb and how the alternate Donna Noble had saved them all. Told him of the insanity of the Osterhagen key, something proposed here as well but immediately rejected as too fatalistic and foolhardy. Finally, she spoke of being returned to Norway with her mother. 

"Director Tyler said the Doctor came back with you." 

Alarm bells went off in her head as she said cautiously, "Sir?"

Noticing her concern, Robinson had quickly said, "It'll not be broadcast by me, believe me. I've read the files on the Doctor before. We all did, the ones involved in the Dimension Cannon project. Pete contacted me on the matter of getting the identification process started and getting him registered. I've got contacts in the Registration Bureau that will get the ball rolling faster." 

Rose had nodded, knowing well there were other alien refugees scattered across the world, not just London. "Didn't realize, sir," she'd smiled, relaxing slightly. 

It was strange to think of the Metacrisis being lumped in with the usual types that filed for asylum far from the planets of their birth. Harder yet to imagine the Doctor in the same situation. 

"I'm always discrete, " Robinson had replied. "Where is he? I'd almost expected to have him come in with you."

"Still at the mansion, waiting for the IDs and getting used to it all," she had answered, thinking on how likely that would be. By the time he was ready to face the world, would the world be ready for him?

"He'll have to clear the medical within the next 30 days, or before he goes out in the field. Whichever is sooner. He'll be a valuable asset to have on our side."

"He hasn't decided if he's going to join," Rose had said, wondering at the time if that would even be a good idea, having him in the field. The state he'd been when she'd left the house this morning, he'd be getting himself or others killed on the first mission. 

"Understandable, changing universes has to take a lot of adjusting to, considering. Especially if he's without his ship. He'll have to drive or take the bus like the rest of us."

The thought of the Doctor or even the Metacrisis with a bus pass was laughable, if not slightly terrifying. The drivers would be on strike within a week's time, she'd thought. 

The debriefing over, she'd excused herself to her own desk to begin filing all the requisite paperwork necessary to close the case. It was a chance to enjoy the mindlessness of the humdrum mundane burden of filing forms. Normally she would've been forcing herself into it, but for now it was a respite from the swirl of thoughts that chased their own tails. A break from the ouroborus her thinking had become with all the conflicting and confusing streams since returning here.


	7. Chapter 7

.

 

7

It is morning and the Homicide Division of Scotland Yard is doing their morning debriefing. "Anything yet on those disappearances around Southwark and Shoreditch?" Detective Chief Inspector Eric Jacobson asks. 

"No, sir, but we're going to collect personal effects from the families today to see if we can match the DNA to the remains that've been found, sir," DI Gail Evans replies. 

"We're starting to think this might be something to call Torchwood in on a consult. This may be more their jurisdiction," her partner DI James O'Connor adds. "Just from the autopsy reports, sir."

"Oh?"

"Whatever was used to removed the missing organs, arms and head cauterized as it cut, sir. And there's evidence the wounds were inflicted ante mortem."

Jacobson is clearly shocked, disbelieving. "Are you saying they were alive when this was happening to them?" He scoffs. "No one could survive decapitation."

"Apparently they did, sir. For atleast an hour. Cause of death was actually drowning," O'Connor says, consulting the report from the coroner on his desk. 

"But that's preposterous!"

"Argue that with Morrison, sir. He's the one that performed the autopsy and the report was signed off by Parker. Apparently he concurs with the conclusions Morrison made, as unbelievable as it sounds."

"Worrying. Especially with no suspects."

"Any signs this is related to Cybus?" Jacobson asks hopefully. If it was, they could send the entirety of this enigma to Torchwood's agents to solve. "Send a copy of the autopsy reports to Torchwood, just in case."

And an puzzle it was. Fifteen people missing, mostly vagrants last known to be in the vicinity of the wastes around London, though three were youths from a council estate in Shoreditch. Four bodies found around the Docklands, all torn apart and missing organs, limbs and the heads. One had been entirely skinned. And no clue why the bodies and disappearances were scattered across such a large area of the city, with the only thing connecting the remains found were the nature of the damage. The only thing they could say conclusively was there were possibly more people missing, and this was looking like they were going to be in for the long haul. Unless they could find the evidence to put this squarely on Torchwood's plate, that is. Something they all felt would be the case, but the evidence had yet to pan out. 

"Well get on it, then. Hopefully the families can provide something to shed light on this whole mess, and we can atleast tell one bunch we found their loved one, even if it's not how they hoped," Jacobson says. 

Evans was the first to stand, reminding the others of the complaints from the council estate about noise from a nearby warehouse. 

"Sounds unrelated," O'Connor says dismissively. "Mrs. Farnham is known for making frivolous complaints."

"Still could be something," Evans insists. 

Jacobson raises a hand, hoping to work a compromise. "See if you can get something to compare DNA with from the families, then check the neighborhood around the warehouse when you've got this cleared. No sense taking time away on what is most likely an unrelated matter, or a grumpy pensioner's grudge. Especially when it seems we have a possible serial killer on our hands."

 

 

Rose's friend Sally Henderson had met up with her in the cafeteria when she finally took her lunch, two hours late as it was.

"So you're staying for good now, I take it," Sally had asked in greeting, sitting across the table from her with a tray of soup and salad. 

"Yeah," she had said, picking at her own meatloaf. "The cannon won't work anymore, so back to the usual." 

"Good, it'll be too quiet around here other than the usual chaos from Owen and Jake bickering."

They had shared a chuckle, falling into the familiar habit of complaining about paperwork and office politics. They'd run out of gossip, companionably eating when Rose had finally spoken. 

"He's here," she had said suddenly. 

Sally's eyebrows shot up. She'd heard a lot about the Doctor over the last three years she herself had been at Torchwood, joining Torchwood One well after the first year they'd been using the Dimension Cannon. She had smiled broadly, feeling happy for Rose, since they'd become friends over time. "Your mysterious Doctor is really here? Owen isn't just full of it? Go on, spill. You've been half mad about him this whole time I've known you, so why the long face?"

"It's complicated, " Rose had sighed. "Really, really complicated." She'd quickly filled her friend in about the metacrisis and the proper Doctor leaving her here with the duplicate of himself. "And he left me, again! He said he wouldn't, that I was different from the other companions he'd had, but he did it. After all I went through to get back to him, drops me off back here and did it. Left me again. With this one, who's supposed to be messed up and needs watching."

"Could he be telling the truth on what he says?" Sally had asked. "Is he the same as before?"

"No. Yes. Sort of. Looks the same, sometimes acts the same, but he's like a ghost sometimes. Almost a stranger, really. Barely even talks."

"What was the other him like when you saw him?" Sally had asked, spooning up her soup. 

"Thrilled to see me, of course. But we didn't get much chance to talk, not with everything else that was going on."

"No, I mean, how did he act?"

Rose had shrugged, thinking through what she'd turned over in her mind for the last three days and nights. "He seemed older, more worn. Like he'd been through a lot since we'd seen each other. Angry because of Davros and feeling guilty about not preventing the whole thing. Always takes the blame for everything, even when it's not his fault. Kinda distant and cold after. Just ran off without a proper goodbye."

"The other?" 

"He's an emotional yoyo. Happy one minute, a possible suicide risk the next, or just plain angry at the world. I don't know if he's really the Doctor, as they both said, or if it's all a sham. And can't get a word out of him, half the time to find out."

Sally had quickly come to her own conclusions, thinking on what Rose had told her of the Doctor before. "I'd say he's probably telling the truth, from the sounds of it. Losing you to this universe before probably threw him off and if trouble follows him like you've said, god only knows what has happened since. Add in waking up, finding a there's two of yourself and you're no longer quite the same species, that's got to be weird. Imagine waking up and finding yourself suddenly a cat, and craving mice. Probably the whole existential crisis going on. Send him in for counseling."

Rose had giggled at the thought. "Yeah, he's definitely that going on. The mood swings and angst are driving me mad. And counseling wouldn't work. Half the time you can't get a word out of him, unless he won't shut up and that's never about anything important. But it's there, just waiting to explode."

"The proverbial nine hundred pound gorilla?" 

"Yeah, or nine hundred year old Time Lord, more like. He says he's him, he loves me, but he's so distant and angry. Just so...lost. And I don't know how to help him. He won't talk."

Sally had made a derisive noise at that. "Alien or no, he's a typical bloke. They don't talk about feelings. They bottle them up, get drunk, or break furniture. Or go out to the firing ranges, like Owen."

The imagery that filled Rose's mind wasn't pretty. As the Metacrisis was, she didn't want him around weapons, even if he'd possibly gotten over the Doctor's dislike of guns. As for drinking, she distinctly had no desire to see him inebriated. He'd be likely to be a sloppy drunk, crying into his pint and telling the barkeep his life story- right up until they locked him in the lunatic asylum. 

"He'll come around, don't worry," Sally had said as a reassurance. "But what about you?"

"I dunno. I'm just so confused about it, I'm still angry at the proper Doctor, and I'm not sure where it's gonna go with this one. I'm not ready for anything beyond being friends yet, and I think that's part of why he's so unhappy." 

"He wants more?"

"Oh yeah. I do too, sorta. But I don't... He's enough like the Doctor that I can't imagine him tied down. Clothes shopping almost put him in a state. I'm not the same as I was at 19, and I'm not sure I can trust him to not break my heart."

"Well, give it time. Try moving back to your flat and leave him at your parents', or help him get his own place. A little space will help you get some perspective."

"Really?" Rose had asked, mulling the idea over. 

"It's what I'd do, personally. But what do I know? Other than there's weevils by the dozen in Cardiff again that aren't going to contain themselves. We're leaving in an hour so we'll be there and ready to go by morning," Sally had said, clearing up her side of the table. 

Rose had nodded. "I still have a mountain of paperwork with my name on it," she had said ruefully. 

They had said their goodbyes and Rose had forced herself back into her office. Back to the reams of forms waiting for filing, reports to be turned in to the department head, and a summary of the last trip to Accounting for a summation of the success of the device. They had to justify spending all that money, and it was not like they'd take the word of a few astronomers as the full report. 

 

Catching up took a couple days, which left her too tired in the evening to do more than chat idly with him before heading to her own bed, after eating and mumbling a good night. He'd greet her, but left her to her space, which she appreciated through her exhaustion. Inevitably, she'd cry herself to sleep, frustrated at the man in the next room and mourning the loss of the Doctor as keenly as she had almost five years before. The next morning she'd be back up, pushing herself into work. 

Pete had already questioned whether she should be pushing herself so soon, but she felt she had to. Keep busy or end up gloomy and depressed like the Metacrisis was turning into. She'd offered to bring him along since his ID had come in, but he'd turned down her offers. Apparently watching cartoons with her little brother and gossiping with her Mum was more up his alley. Trying to distract him from his own issues wasn't going to help. 

She had thrown herself into her work, handling a complaint of shoplifting from a merchant who'd caught two Vinvocci red-handed (or green handed as it were) in his antiques shop. Then having to settle the whole thing. Apparently, they were a salvage crew after a piece of Atraxi tech that'd fallen through the rift around 800 AD, turning up in an Anglo-Saxon burial somehow. Then there was the issue of informing the Antiquities Ministry on an unauthorized archaeological dig and disturbance of a historical site by a contractor. The whole thing never ended, especially the paperwork. 

She'd already considered moving back into her flat, where it was closer to the office and had decided to wait a bit on that, give herself a chance to figure out how to tell him without him automatically thinking she was just giving up on him. That, or abandoning him to the mercy of her mother and Tony, especially since she didn't think she could get him to come with her. The TARDIS would've been one thing, living day to day in a linear fashion something totally different and he seemed determined to stay in his funk by himself. She'd tried talking to him, trying to get him open up about his own problems, knowing she would be able to steer him from the sensitive topics, but to no avail. He wasn't willing to talk about anything beyond what they'd eaten or the Eastenders. How do you help someone who won't help themselves? How do you reach someone who keeps throwing up walls on top of more walls?

Mum had been giving her pointed looks, but hadn't said anything so far. That itself was slightly worrisome, but Pete had been carrying on like nothing was out of the usual and Tony was too young to know the difference. The Dimension Cannon project had started up right after he was born, any how. It was business as usual in the Tyler household, even if there was an added member now. Even if said addition was driving her to distraction with his refusal to let her help him. She wanted to give him a push, jar him out of the slump he was in, but was afraid she'd push him too far in the wrong direction. She feared he'd take it the wrong way, get mad and leave her behind like all the other versions of the Doctor had. 

 

 

Jackie had ended up being the one to confront the Doctor, finding him outside, since Tony was down for his afternoon kip. "Snap out of it, you can't spend your entire life moping."

"What?" He was sitting on the retaining wall at the end of the garden, staring into space until she'd startled him from his reverie. He'd reared back in surprise at her voice, bridling in offence. 

"You heard me," she'd said, dropping down to sit next to him. 

"Oi, I'm not moping. Time Lords don't mope. I'm thinking."

She'd given a derisive laugh at that. "Right. Pull the other one, it's got bells on."

He'd given her a look of confusion. Bells? He thought as he gave her a cursory inspection for the jangling metal things. No bells he could see. Whatever was she nattering on about? With a roll of her eyes, she'd said in an exasperated tone, "It's an expression, you plum. Really, for all those brains you brag about, you can be right thick."

"Oi! I'm not...genius, me! Quite clever, I am. Brilliant, I am. Just you fool humans have got so many colloquialisms from over the centuries.. " he'd sputtered, crossing his arms over his chest.

"So what's got your knickers in a twist, then?"

Another look of confusion. "What? Oooh...knew I forgot something. Blimey. Knickers are still in the dresser."

Jackie had gritted her teeth and asked any listening deities for the patience to not slap him a good one. "Don't go playing the village idiot with me, just to avoid answering me. What's got you all so gloomy? You're worse than you were before, brooding about like a rainy day waiting to happen," she'd snapped. She'd seen Rose attempt talking to him, with little result. Sometimes being gentle wouldn't work. Sometimes a sharp poke was what was needed and if it was left up to her to prod him, so be it. 

He had looked away, then, quickly taking to studying his trainers like the secrets of the universe would be found on their grubby surfaces. It took a sharp nudge from Jackie's elbow to get him talking. A jump start, as it were. "It's just...I'm terrified. Scared shitless. Like I've never been in all my lives. Ha! Only got one of those now. Every minute, every second, it's all slipping away through my fingers. Someday, it'll all be gone, over. Kaput. The Time Lord out of time. Me! Out of time! No regeneration, either. Just deceased, departed, defunct, passed on, pushing up daisies, kicked the bucket, gone to the great sleep... dead!"

By the end of that he was up on his feet, waving his arms, and more animated than she'd seen him since the beach. "And your point is?" she'd asked pointedly. 

"What? Doesn't that just... terrify you? Every moment you're getting closer to rotting away under some rock with flowers, eaten by the beetles and worms?" 

"Aren't you just full of sunshine and happy thoughts? Good grief, Doctor. That's part of being human. You just be glad of what time you've got and go on. You live – or at least try to. You don't hang out in the garden in your pajamas crying about it," she'd said, sighing. Her tone had been gentle, even with the sarcasm mixed in. 

"Really, Jackie? I mean, what use is it? I'm all confused, scared and.... I mean, what about Rose? What'll I do about her? I'm not..."

Jackie had cut him off then. "Do you love her?"

"What?" He wasn't misunderstanding her, just befuddled at the idea that he was even having this conversation. With Jackie Tyler. The one who had slaps that could scare all sorts of nasties straight into the Howling to escape. Escape. Good idea that. Any possible chance he could....

"Do you love her?" Jackie had repeated, congratulating herself on her patience so far. Really, if all aliens were this slow, it was amazing they could manage to even get off their planets, much less invade earth. Take away the box and all you've got is an idiot, she'd thought. 

"What? Yes... how can you... I mean, isn't it obvious? I'm here, right? Putting up with you, even. The soul of endurance, I am, attempting domestic. I'm trying."

"Seems to me you're not trying much of anything, other than seeing how far you can push the whole sulking nonsense."

He had snorted at that, rolling his own eyes. "'M not sulking," he had mumbled. "It's an existential crisis, thank you very much."

"Don't get cheeky with me, mister," she'd said, pointing her finger at him. "Here you are, in your pajamas, you haven't shaved since you got here, and the only one you've been hanging out with is Tony. He may be a wonderful little boy, but I'm sure you didn't come here just to socialize with a 4 year old. Even if you two act alike."

"Maybe it's because he's the only one who's not wishing I'm someone I'm not! Or the only one besides you who calls me by name. She hasn't said my name since that damned beach!"

Jackie had been glad she'd gotten more of a reaction out of him. Go on, she'd silently urged. Let it out, you poor boy. Let it out before it eats you alive. "Piss or get off the pot, Doctor," was all she'd said. 

"Don't need the damn loo at the moment," he'd snarled, eyes flashing and chin held high as he glared down at her.

"Give up the act, Doctor. Make a decision. Live, or bleeding sod off. Atleast you can grow a pair and try, stop wandering around the house all hours of the night, put on real clothes and for the love all that's holy, take a damn shower! You're starting to get ripe. And for goodness sakes, talk to Rose. She's trying, but you aren't."

"I just don't know how! Nine hundred years, Jackie, nine hundred years of talking and not saying anything that mattered. Nine hundred years of mostly hell. The things I've seen, things I've done, I don't deserve her. When the monsters tell their little ones scary stories... the stuff that scares the things that go bump in the night, it's me! Killer of his own kind, the Oncoming Storm, Ka Fariq Gatri, terrified of the reaction from a pink and yellow human." 

He had ended with a derisive noise, shaking his head. There it was, all that self directed anger and self loathing poured out in a moment. She'd seen it in the other one, that horrible day on that ship with the evil pepper pots. "No, you don't deserve my Rose, but you're the one she chose," Jackie had said softly. 

He'd started laughing then, an almost hysterical cackle. "Wrong number, sweetheart, who're you trying to reach again?" he said sarcastically. "She wants _Him_. The other me, the one who's TARDIS is already grown, has two hearts, and has a parting chance at at least being ginger someday!"

She'd automatically slapped him, shutting him up for a moment before he could start winding himself up again. "I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head. Now shut it and listen, you gobshite. You're the one she kissed. You're the one that said the words."

He had been working up the steam to protest and glaring again. "But.."

"I said shut it. You'll give yourself a complex if you keep it up. Just think on what I've said. Maybe it's just depression. They've got pills for that. Go see a shrink. My friend Beth – you remember her, from the estate back in the other world – her sister went in once a week. Probably do you wonders, you being such a nutter. Walking complex, you are."

And he was back to protesting and sputtering. "A shrink? Do you think I'm just some wacko? Off my trolley, bonkers? Time Lords don't go to psychiatrists.."

"Then straighten your own self out, Doctor. Find an ounce of what you call courage in there-" poking him squarely in the gut with a finger- "and just try. Now I've got to go check on Tony, see if he's awake yet. Come along you, time to get dressed and a good scrubbing will do you wonders. World looks like a different place after a good bath," she'd said as she rose and ambled back towards the house. 

He had sat there watching her go for a moment, gobsmacked. Here he was, getting what could obliquely be called a pep talk from Rose's Mum. Just... weird. Jackie Tyler handing out advice. Oh how the mighty have fallen, coming to this. Oh well, Theta, time to urinate or evacuate the sanitary facilities, to paraphrase that scary, scary lady, he had thought. Maybe she's right, and atleast she only slapped me once. Didn't even leave a mark this time, he'd mused, rubbing his face.

.


	8. Chapter 8

8

A talk.......

Rose came home from her day at Torchwood to find her mother waiting for her. It was already later than she'd expected she'd be. But with all that paperwork she'd had left on her desk... 

"There you are, Rose! I was about ready to call you to remind you about dinner. Tony's already down for the night. I'll heat some left overs for you."

"Thanks, Mum. How is he today?" she asked in a low voice, looking over her mother's shoulder for any sign of the Metacrisis. 

Jackie rolled her eyes. "The usual, but I think I've talked some sense into his thick head. Got him to get cleaned up, atleast. Hopeless, he is."

Concern flashed through her. "Mum, you didn't..." Visions of her mother physically accosting the Metacrisis filled her head. I hope this isn't going to make it worse, he's been so...who knows how he'll react, she thought as she rushed towards the sitting room door. There was no sign of him in there, just Pete watching the telly, which set her to panicking more until her mother nudged her. 

"Don't worry about him. I set him up with your Dad's computer for awhile before he went upstairs again. Kept him entertained for a bit, and give you a chance to eat in peace," Jackie said, steering her daughter back towards the kitchen area. 

Much different than the big kitchen used for formal dinners, this was the one that they usually ate in. It was smaller and more comfortable for her mother, as it was closer in style to the one in their old flat in the other universe. She was not surprised when her mother turned the kettle on and made them both cups of tea. That must mean a serious conversation was coming and she could guess the topic already. 

"Rose, you've got to try harder with him. Get him to go in with you to Torchwood, or something. Anything to get him thinking about something other than his own problems."

"Mum.." she began to protest, since she'd already tried that. 

"Try harder. Push him. He's not made of glass, even if he's a mess. Can't keep hanging around here all day, he can't. Not with him sitting in the yard moping or watching telly all day with your brother."

Rose winced, feeling bad for pawning him off on her mum. The other Doctor made him her responsibility, and she hasn't done much on making him better. Even if he's not really willing to talk much about anything.

"I'll try, Mum. I was planning on talking to him, anyhow. It's just... he's not exactly forthcoming half the time and it's all so... different. I'm not sure..." she stammered at the end, not knowing how to finish that sentence. "I mean, he's definitely a Doctor, but he's so distant and different, I don't know where I stand with him or what to say, really."

"Time changes us all, Rose," Jackie said, sitting across from her daughter with two cups of tea.

"Ta," Rose murmured, taking a deep sip of her own.

"He's the same man, Rose. Don't ask me how that's even possible, but he's definitely that same Doctor of yours. He's probably wondering the same things you are, sweetheart. It all can't be easy for him, and he's terrified you're gonna reject him, send him packing," Jackie said, giving her daughter a sharp look. 

"What? I wouldn't.. "

"I know that, but he doesn't. He's driving himself barmy worrying he's not the one you really want."

That hit her, hard. She'd been wondering the same herself, as she'd seen the flashes of a deeper current running through him. The times she'd wondered what the Time Lord had gotten her into when she'd seen the hints of a problem possibly more than her abilities to solve. "It's not that. I just don't know where to go with all this. I mean, I pictured being in the TARDIS with him, not dealing with the aftermath of someone's who's more of a mess than anything. He hasn't even started working on getting that coral ready."

"Then push him, Rose. He's clearly not going to do anything on his own. He's not even eating right. Not like he can afford to skimp on his meals, that one."

Rose nodded, thinking hard. She'd been trying to figure out how to start the conversation she knew she needed to have with him. Here goes nothing, I guess. It all starts with something. Just hope it's not a disaster, she thought.

She was still apprehensive when she finally went upstairs. His bedroom door was partly open, enough so she could see him stretched out on the floor, staring out the rain streaked window. 

"Hey, you," she said in greeting 

"Rose," he replied, a small wistful smile becoming a grin as he sits up, drawing his legs up under him and moving to lean against the wall.

"There's furniture here, you know," she teased as she sat down beside him on the floor. 

"Just getting used to it all. Desensitization by inundation, they call it. Use it on lots of phobias in this day and age."

"So you're using it on carpets, are you? Gonna go to the bank and hang out with the mortgage officer next?" she asked, unable to stifle a laugh. 

"Well.." he drawled out, looking vaguely embarrassed. "Might not work as well as I'd thought, will it? Banks aren't really my thing, and all."

"You could always try it on pears."

He shot her a look of horror and disgust, lip curling slightly. "No! That would just be... just be wrong. Nothing is going to make pears good, decent or edible. There's a major difference between phobias and acute abhorrence. Like the difference between carpets and pears."

This helped to atleast get him talking, helped her gauge his mood to a degree. His reactions and responses were within a familiar range, and he was not so closed down that this she'd be better off teaching the dead to dance instead. 

"Sorry," she said, schooling her face into a more serious expression, but one that was still open and compassionate. "So Mum's been at you," she began.

He looked at her sharply, clearly wondering what Jackie had told her. And already his chin was going up, eyes peering down that long nose, ready for a head on confrontation. Damn it, this isn't going to be easy. But why would I ever expect that, she thought. Not like it ever was with the Doctor and he's so much like my first Doctor. More than the one he looks like.

"I'm sorry if I...I know I've been busy with work so much lately. I'm sorry if I've let you down, left you feeling all unwanted," she said in a rush, before he could start to speak. Before he could snap at her and go running off to avoid all this. 

His posture was still tense, but he was not looking like the embodiment of an explosion waiting to happen. And his expression had softened, giving her hope that they could possibly get this over with without waking Tony up from all the screaming and yelling.

"Rose.." he said softly before ducking his head. He was silent then, but it was the silence of someone gathering the words, not someone getting ready to pull a runner. Or so she hoped. The whole quiet of him was unnerving, since she'd expected to be swimming in a flood of his babbling, trying to steer him back to the original topic. If he was not bothering to chatter about anything to distract her, it had to be something major. 

He was weighing his own doubts and fears against what needed to be said. How much to reveal, how much to hold back. So much needed to be said, but there was still so much he was not ready to talk about yet. Things he feared her reaction to and worried over her acceptance of them. Feared he'd ruin her perception of him, both of him. She'd always seen him as better than he was, but to have her turn away now, it would destroy him. Not saying anything would push her away even faster, with the same end result. 

"I'm sorry, Rose," he said softly, pushing himself to his feet. "This is all my fault. Not yours. None of the blame belongs on you. Just the hubris of a stupid old man, who's been alone far too long for his own good and pushing other people to deal with problems that are rightfully his. You shouldn't be here, I shouldn't be here. I bolloxed this all up, and it's my fault."

She stared at him, unbelieving, fearing this was where he'd give his excuses and go swanning off, leaving her behind. "What...." she stammered. 

"I'm sorry," he said again, reaching for his coat and pulling it on over his t-shirt. "I'll get something working... get you back where you belong with me. Him. Damn pronouns. I'll fix this, I promise. Just..." 

He was almost out the bedroom door when she finally found her voice. "Doctor.."

He stopped at that, slowly turned around with a look of wonder. Could this be... no, the universe wasn't that kind, was it?

She stepped close to him, angry beyond words at him and afraid her heart might break beyond repair if she can't stop him. Or break even more if she can. "You'd risk destroying the universe. Break down all the walls of reality. You can't."

He looked down at her, lips twisted in a pained smile. "I would," he stated simply, eyes hard and determined. "To make you happy again, I would."

"You can't," she repeated. "You don't have that power to decide."

He smirked then and grabbed her hand, closing his eyes and focusing harder than he had since he'd first awakened in a burning TARDIS. He reached for the remnants of his Time Lord abilities, just to show her. To prove that he was still him, to let her feel the earth turning beneath her feet like he had once before, even though he hadn't felt it since he'd run to her in that abandoned street in Chiswick. 

"Oh my God," she whispered as she felt it, staring up at him. Improbable, impossible as it was, it was him. Even if he was a bit off.... Suddenly starting to get afraid when she saw he was rapidly growing paler by the second. He dropped her hand suddenly, putting a hand to his own head with a grimace of pain. 

"Doctor, are you OK?" she asked, putting a hand under his arm to steady him since he looked like he might collapse.

"Sorry, I'm alright. I'm always.... " he forced out between gritted teeth, eyes still closed. "It's just so... haven't been able to do that since... that human DNA is messing with my senses." 

"You're not alright, Doctor. You're not fooling anyone. Even my Mum's worried about you. And you can't go destroying the universes, not for me. Not for anyone. Not when you're already here with me."

He opened his eyes cautiously, expecting another stab of agony and was very relieved when it didn't happen. It was a strong reminder of what he knew Donna had felt before... not going there. He'd been dealing with the backlash from that on top of everything else. Retroactive psychic feedback loop, must be. That or there was a pin hole in the walls between realities. It would explain the dreams. 

Rose looked up at him, concern writ across her features even as she shifted under his weight.

"I'm sorry," he muttered as he quickly stood straight. "Can't go making you carry me around."

She looked at him then, assessing the damage. He was definitely the Doctor. That foolish, dangerous stunt had proved it. And showed he was even more damaged than she'd thought. If he's this bad, how bad is the other Doctor, she wondered. What's he willing to push his abilities to, when he's still got them? "What's happened to you?" she asked. 

He raised an eyebrow at her, giving one of those infuriating looks like she'd dribbled down her shirt – again. "Metacrisis? Remember the hand?" he said wryly, raising his right hand and wiggling his fingers in a saucy wave. 

"No," she said, rolling her eyes. "What's going on with you? Is it like that Christmas, when you regenerated?"

"What? No! It's just... I shouldn't have... should've... " He quickly ran out of words. Rubbing the back of his neck, he waved the other hand to indicate to Rose she should sit. She sat on the edge of his bed, briefly thinking of the times she would've given anything to be on his bed. Though she'd never imagined it under these circumstances. 

"I, oh, Rassillon. It was hell without you, Rose. I tried. I kept going, same old life, all that. And it just got worse. Bad with an entire ocean liner of bad. The whole Titanic, in fact, but that's another long story there. Got declared Public Enemy Number One, watched the only other Time Lord in existence cannibalize my TARDIS to take over the earth..."

"What?" She was amazed. Another Time Lord? "How long was it for you? Since Canary Wharf?"

He looked at her, eyes haunted, but no longer ready to run. Her seeming acceptance had calmed the fight or flight reaction, but he still was afraid of pouring out too much. He had some pride left. Wasn't going to come off sounding like he wanted a whole pity party in his name. "Three years," he said shortly. "Just one of those years didn't exist."

"How can a year not exist?" she asked. "Another alternate world, like the one around Donna? The one where she turned right and didn't meet you?"

He turned it over in his mind, considering for a moment. "Well, yes and no. Mostly no. Paradox machine. Turned my TARDIS into an abomination," he said with indignation and disgust. Then realizing his words he seemed to deflate. "And it's not even my TARDIS. Not any more," he said with a weary sigh, dropping to sit on the bed. "I don't even have that. I'm so sorry, Rose. You could have been out there with him, flying around..." 

"Fingers on lips, Doctor, " she said sharply, raising a finger cover her mouth, mimicking the gesture he'd made back in 1959.

He raised a finger to his lips in compliance, one eyebrow quirked with the unspoken question and amusement.

"You can have your own if you try. You've got the coral and I'm sure we can find whatever you need to get it to grow. Torchwood probably has most if not all of what you need." 

"But.." he started to protest. 

"Doctor," she said warningly. 

He put on a contrite expression as he mimed zipping his mouth, locking it, and throwing away the key with extravagant gestures. She couldn't help but laugh at his antics, glad to see some of the darkness gone from his eyes. There were so many ways she'd imagined this going after his attempt to leave. "Go on, you. Always a smartarse," she said in exasperation. 

He smirked, looking like he'd not been upset and depressed a few minutes before. "That's where you are wrong, Rose Tyler," he said with indignation as he stood and stared down at her with a serious expression. 

"Yeah?" she said, cautiously, wondering if his mood was going to rebound again. Wondering if these had been the seconds before the disaster. 

"All of me is smart! Not just that," he said, grinning and preening a bit, looking like a rogue. He swaggered a little and struck a pose, saying in an attempt at his old confidence, "Though it is a cute one, wouldn't you say? Fine figure of a man, me. Slim, and just a bit foxy, wouldn't you say?" Seeing her reddening cheeks, he couldn't help but smirk. Still got it, he thought. 

"Doctor," she said even as she laughed at him again. "You can't... we gotta get you.."

"What do we gotta get me?" he asked teasingly, fitting more innuendo into those words than they should've warranted. 

"You've been around Captain Jack too much," she said. Then the question she'd wondered about since the Crucible came to her. She looked at him then, hoping he wouldn't avoid answering when the other Doctor had then. 

He could read her face as well as ever, and knew what she wanted to know before she could even ask. "How is Jack alive, you're wondering, then," he said with a sigh. So much for flirting enough to distract her from asking about things that he didn't want to deal with. Satellite 5 was a safer topic than the Master or anything else since Canary Wharf he could think of. 

"Yeah. How?"

He sat down on the bed next to her, sitting cross legged and facing her to gauge her reactions. "Remember when you opened the heart of the TARDIS, before I changed?" he asked in a low, gentle voice. 

"Yeah, but I don't remember anything after," she said, watching him closely. Looking for indications of what was going on behind the poker face he wore. 

"Well, you kinda...brought him back. Forever."

"What? Forever? That's terrible. I'm so sorry. He must hate me for doing something so stupid," she gasped, covering her mouth with her hands in horror. 

He looked alarmed. "Wait! You didn't mean to. It wasn't stupid, not at all. You did it out of love. It's a good thing, love. He doesn't blame you," he said, trying to calm her down. Great going, you've got her even more upset, he thought. No wonder we switched to looms on Gallifrey. With track records like this, we'd have gone extinct long before I happened along. Forget the Daleks, oral podography would've done us in.

"What? Oral pornography?" Rose sputtered, looking even more alarmed. 

"What? Oh damn. Did I say that aloud?" he asked, fearing he already knew the answer. Humans wouldn't be telepathic for another 3000 years or so. 

"Yes, you did. Now what is it? Don't tell me you've got some weird alien foot fetish," she said sharply, glaring a little. 

"What? No!" he said quickly, just as horrified as she was. "Its another way of saying a tendency to put your foot in your mouth. A faux pas, in other words. Nothing like that, really. Just..." He shuddered slightly, watching her unbristle to his relief. He'd been strongly reminded of whose daughter Rose was. Too strongly. 

"Just what, Doctor?" she asked, smiling a little. She'd seen the flash of fear in his eyes.

"Blimey, you Tyler women can be scary. Should be sending your mother to defend the universe with you. No invasions then. She'd scare them all back to their worlds. Then I could stay home and do other things."

"Like what," she asked teasingly. 

"Oh, take up a hobby, knit a scarf, play cricket, make music."

"You can play an instrument? What, the kazoo?" 

He gave her a look of mock affront. "Multi talented, I am. Used to play the recorder, the spoons, even an organ. Took down an evolutionary misstep with a church organ," he boasted with a sniff. 

"Yeah, but were you any good at it?" She was relieved he was still able to banter in between the revelations.

"Well, the Royal Albert Hall wasn't exactly calling to make arrangements, but I did manage to save a pile of people and stop a mad scientist."

"That's what matters, I guess. But about Jack, did you know then?"

He blanched, wishing he had an answer that was simple and not so damn embarrassing. "Um, yeah, but I was already starting to regenerate, and I was worried about you and..."

"Did you know? You said he was rebuilding the earth." She had that look again. That one that was halfway between an accusation and a plea. Like she'd already come up with the answer, but wanted to be wrong. That she thought him to be a better person than he was. One he'd never been able to hold out against because he did want to be what she imagined he was. 

He sighed, looking down in embarrassment. "Can I just say I'm sorry, I'm so sorry and get it over with?" he asked in a small voice, the tips of his ears getting hot. 

"You knew!" she accused. 

"Yeah, I did. I'm not proud of it. He's a FACT. All the timelines bend and sway around him and he's just... wrong. Couldn't help it. Gut reaction, I guess. Every cell was dying, you'd passed out because the Vortex was killing you and I couldn't... I did what I had to and then, I ran. Doing what I do best. Did it the second time around, too. I ran. I took the words to that song at heart, and ran so far away. All the way to the end of the universe, and just like the song, I couldn't get away. Then came the real problems," he said bitterly. 

"Yeah?" 

"That's where I found that other Time Lord. The Master Hiding away at the end of the universe, running from the Time War."

"Like you?" she asked, wondering if this other had been as scarred from battle as he was. 

"No! Nothing like me," he protested vehemently. "He was insane long before the Time War. Broken long before then."

Without really thinking, he told her about the Year That Never Was and about Martha saving them all by walking the face of the earth, armed with nothing but words and hope. Finally giving voice to the year of captivity and hell that he'd never spoken of since. It hurt, but it was better out than in, and Rose was sympathetic. She didn't reflect his own guilty conscience at being so helpless, so damn useless, back at him. Instead she was angry at his treatment, at the Master's callous murdering of millions, and as proud and admiring of Martha as he had been. 

She was surprised he'd open up so easily. She'd expected more of a fight. He seemed more willing to tell her things than the other Doctor had ever been, even if it took getting in his face to get him to do so. Even if he's more likely to push the limits, like offering to destroy the world for the sake of her happiness. _"I could save the world but lose you."_ Those words seemed to echo in her mind. He was Doctor, but a whole lot more volatile and reckless. Not so much blood, fire, and revenge as much bloody determined, devil-may-care, and self loathing. This was going to be interesting. After he'd run out of words, she'd tried comforting him, trying to smother a yawn. Three hours had gone by somehow and it was now going on midnight.

"Sorry about that," she'd apologized.

"No, don't be sorry. It's late, and I shouldn't have kept you up. You've had a long day. Sorry for being a regular agony aunt," he said, looking ashamed of himself. "Still got the gob, as you can tell."

"Don't be sorry, Doctor. We needed to talk and you needed to air that all out, yeah? Now you need some rest. You're looking all done in and I know I'm knackered," she said getting to her feet. "I've got to be at Torchwood in the morning."

"Yeah," he said, standing and pulling her into a hug. "Thank you for listening to my tale of woe."

"Any time, Doctor. I'm here," she said, giving him a sleepy smile. 

"Good night, Rose," he said, smiling at her gently and pushing her towards the door and her own room. "You need your rest, and so do I. Sleeping half my life away now, like you lot."

"It's not that bad," she said, from her own door. "Pillows are comfy. Beds are too, so you know. You might find it better than the floor, even if you're trying to desensitize yourself to carpeting."

He rolled his eyes at that, wondering what else Jackie's told her about. "Good night, Rose," he said more firmly, not wanting to be up half the night wondering what else Jackie had revealed, or worse, finding out for certain. 

"You know, you could come with tomorrow. Don't have to stay here with Mum and Tony. Dad would be thrilled," she said, remembering her mother's request from earlier. 

"I'm sure he would," he said wryly, making a face of annoyed amusement. 

"Doctor, please?" she asked in a small voice.

He sighed, knowing resistance was futile. Not with that pleading look. Like he'd been able to resist a heartfelt request from Rose Tyler, ever. "Fine," he said, grudgingly. "But don't expect too much of this. It's still bloody Torchwood and I'm still me. All bound to go arse over tea kettle before long." 

"Thank you," she said, giving him a bright smile. 

"Now good night, Rose. Before you get me talked into doing anything else foolish."

"Good night, Doctor," she said with a contented smile as she closed her bedroom door.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is starting to think this is just a bit familiar (other than the fact that everybody and their aunt has written a post JE story) that's because it is. As some of you might've guessed, I've been editing and reposting this from http://WWW.whofic.com For anyone not familiar with that site, that's the Teaspoon and there is a sequel to this story. A much longer sequel that has smut. Yes, I said "smut" and no one died and the world didn't end because the Metacrisis Doctor dances. ;-)
> 
>  
> 
> And blimey, talk about a difference between here and there. You lot rarely leave reviews, where as this one had loads on the Teaspoon. Weird. Anyhoo, on with the show....

9

Rose was surprised when she saw him dressed and waiting for her the next morning. He was still looking a little rough around the edges, but he gave her a hesitant smile. Atleast he'd shaved, even if his hair was just combed flat. Or as flat as he could manage without gel. She smiled back, amused at how he was trying so hard to look prepared. "Feeling ready to face the world today?" she asked.

He had the grace to look slightly apologetic and embarrassed. "Yeah. Figured... give it the old college try, yeah? Get my mind off..try it out..."

She didn't fail to notice his stumbling words. He may've only been using disjointed sentences, but atleast he was still talking, looking more hopeful than he had in a week. "You can meet the team, and we'll find you a place in one of the departments. Can't waste those mad skills of yours, figuring out alien tech and all that."

"Bit brilliant, me," he said, catching that she'd left out dealing with any aliens directly. She can't be thinking to keep him buried in the archives or some rot, can she? Just because he was part human didn't mean he was suddenly made of glass. He faked a smile, trying for all he's worth. She can't be thinking I'm totally inept now, can she? That I've lost my senses along with the other heart and half my DNA?

"Everyone's been wanting to meet you. You're a celebrity at Torchwood. They're all excited about it."

He smirked. "Quite right, too," he'd said, both of them suddenly flinching at the memory of when he'd last said those words. "What's not to get excited about? I'm brilliant! Slim, a little bit foxy, and the cleverest thing in this universe," he'd quickly said, trying to cover up the memories with more words. Go on enough, and hopefully she'll forget how much that hurt. Maybe someday, I will too. Forget how hard this is, trying for something when everything you've ever known has been ripped away and the woman you love still didn't know what to make of you.

"Still full of yourself," she said teasingly, glad that defense mechanism hadn't changed. Glad he wasn't going to launch head on into another chance to shut down, dwelling in whatever demons were in his head, or worse, blaming himself for everything. She hadn't figured out where they'd go with this, exactly, but she was willing to try. She knew there had to be more than what he'd told her the night before, but knew also that there would be time to pry the rest out of him. 

They were both silent on the ride in to Torchwood, Rose focused on her driving while he took the time to get himself prepared. It was atleast a companionable silence, instead of a quiet standoff. He'd worn his blue suit for familiarity, despite Jackie insisting he needed to bin it, that the color was terrible on him. He'd ignored her complaints, but pulled his new leather coat about himself tighter. Maybe it was a bad color on him, but he'd hardly had the time to get finicky when he was dressing on the TARDIS. He made the point to Jackie that he could've just stayed starkers and worry about vestments after the crisis was over – that had shut up the peanut gallery, quick. Then again, he thought, that had never been an option, since Donna would've had a hissy fit long before then. She'd been shocked enough as it was. 

He'd made a partial inventory of his pockets, relieved to find the spare sonic still in there, along with a yoyo, jelly babies, a rubber duck, a thermal transducer, a half meter of wiring, and the TARDIS coral. There was probably more – that was just his left pocket – but he wasn't ready to find out exactly how little he had left from his previous life. If he'd actually been thinking about it, actually realized what was going to happen, he'd have packed. Strange, all those possibilities he'd been able to see and him, almost always rarely paying attention. But he'd always liked the element of surprise, finding something unexpected. Even if it usually ended in disaster. But he'll hold on to hope. He liked hope, even if it usually left him disappointed. 

Now, here he was, getting out of a car, in a car park with Rose, entering Torchwood One. Two years ago, he'd have said it was impossible. Now he was actually considering working there. Oh the places you go...

 

Rose was surprised he'd actually brought his identification cards with him, but not surprised at the glower he gave Mr. Thomas at the security gate. "It's standard protocol, everyone's got to sign in and show ID," she said patiently. 

"I'm not 'everyone', Rose," he said petulantly, making her cringe inwardly, even as she put on a look of long suffering. 

"That you aren't, but still. Don't give Mr. Thomas a hard time. You'll be seeing him every day, most likely."

"Don't worry, Miss Tyler, a lot of people get all jumpy the first time around," the security guard chuckled, good natured. 

"Call me Rose," she reminded him. "You don't have to be so formal, yeah? He's John Smith."

The Doctor shot her a glare, but she gave him one back, silently reminding him that it would be best to try to stay under the radar some, atleast for a little while. He rolled his eyes but gave his trademark grin at the guard. "Hello! New here and all that. Gonna go see what you lot got hiding in the corners that could accidentally blow us all to smithereens or wipe out all sentient life.." he began.

"And we're going _now_ ," she said firmly, grabbing the Doctor and steering him away into the building before he could scare Mr Thomas any more. The poor man was already looking quite pale. "What the hell were you thinking? Stop – Mr Thomas is just a glorified doorman," she hissed under her breath. 

He snorted in derision. "All this and you don't have any real security around here? My word, just ready for anyone to walk in and help themselves," he muttered, obviously unimpressed. 

She gave him a smug look, saying, "That's what the biometric scanners are for- pick up people's intentions from body language. And this is just the lobby. The real security is up there." She pointed up at a mezzanine ahead of them, one that was loaded with cameras pointed in every angle, covered in one way glass and what looked like...

"Is that a force field generator with stun capabilities?" he blurted in shock, stopping to stare up in amazement. He stood there for a moment, admiring it with a look of wonder on his face.

"Yup," she said smugly. 

"Now _that's_ impressive, " he said, starting to grin. He quickly turned to look at Rose in bewilderment. "Hold on, how'd you lot get that? It's..."

"Sontaran," Jake finished. "We know. Got a bit more experience since the last time you were here."

"Come down to fetch us, did you?" Rose asked him. 

"Figured it'd be faster. Otherwise you'd be down here all day, with him inspecting the security systems. Plus the rest of us are waiting to do the whole meet and greet thing, while we can. Today's a quiet one, so far," Jake said. 

The Doctor was a little hesitant about meeting the others, since he'd noticed the waves of distrust coming off the rest of the agents that had met them at the mansion. That insufferable little man was probably here, too, the one that had openly challenged him that first day. And he was sure getting into an argument with a possible coworker on his first day wouldn't be good. 

Jake walked them up, past the second wall of security to the lifts, he and Rose catching up on where he'd been when Rose was going through the Dimension Cannon. "Had a spot of trouble in Bulgaria, giant Locust things. About ten feet tall, they were," he said.

"Oooh, Zargas! Haven't seen them in years. From the Centauri System," the Doctor added. "Not to be confused with the Zarbi, of course."

Jake nodded in gratitude at the identification. "Thanks, we knew bugger all about them. They didn't speak anything we could pick up on the translators. Had to take Gerry and Alex over and deal with them – wiped out half the year's wheat crop, so bread will be expensive this winter, for sure."

"What did you do with them?" the Doctor asked, looking at Jake, trying to give him and Torchwood the benefit of the doubt. 

"Would've sent 'em home, but couldn't find their ship and the farmer's wife ran out and got to them with the bug spray before we could stop her," Jake said with a shrug. "Don't blame her, really. Whole thirty hectares gone in under two hours. Lot of work gone, that was. Didn't find the craft they came in, either."

The Doctor gave a resigned sigh. Should've known that reaction would be likely. Humans and their xenophobia and love of killing. "You wouldn't. It's only, meh," he said, holding a thumb and forefinger apart, denoting a size of about 4 inches. He grinned at Rose then, saying, "It's like a TARDIS, but backwards."

"It's smaller on the inside?" she asked with a raised brow, wondering why he seemed so impressed with Zargas. 

"Nope, the Zargas are," he said happily. "They all go through a force field that shrinks them down to the size of ants. Brilliant, really. No practical application for humans, not with your genetics. Wrong skeletal system. Wouldn't work on anything on this planet beyond insects."

"Could you use it on the bed bugs then?" Jake asked with interest. "My cousin Sean's got a problem with them."

"Nope, you'd have to contact the Hive Queen from Rigel Kent and get her to recall them. Or have the Shadow Proclamation pick them up for unauthorized colonization of a level five planet," the Doctor said as he stepped off the lift, ignoring the incredulous looks from Jake and Rose. 

"Seriously?" Jake said, groaning. 

"Yup," the Doctor said, popping the 'p' as he looked around the open room. There were people standing around, obviously waiting for their arrival. 

"Great, just blooming great. Are we gonna..." Jake started to complain.

"Nope, not telling anyone if you won't," Rose said, thinking of all the calls for extermination services they'd be fielding. Visions of endless missions and the Doctor complaining the whole time about the rights of alien species to exist filled her head, along with a visual of him trying to give them the whole Shadow Proclamation cautioning at every flat, as well."Anything that'll drive them off?" she asked in a low voice, hoping that Robinson didn't overhear that conversation. 

"Nah, harder to get rid of than the Daleks, they are. Could be worse, though. Could have cockroaches, instead," he said, slightly distracted, watching a heavy set middle aged man whose very demeanor screamed "bureaucrat."

Robinson walked up to them stiffly, eying the Doctor closely. He gave them a tight smile, holding out a hand and looking dismayed at the enthusiasm the Doctor shook it with. "You must be the Doctor we've heard so much about," he said formally. 

"That's me! The one, the only.. Ooh, can't say that any more, can I? But as far as you're concerned, might as well be. He's probably not coming back, retroactive rift closure and all," he babbled until Rose elbowed him. 

"Rude, Doctor," she said warningly. 

He gave her a raised eyebrow. "Well that's who I am. Rude, and still not ginger. The least the universes could've done..."

"We'll take you to Boots after, and buy you some hair dye if you want, just be nice to my boss for now. He might end up being yours, too," she said. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, hoping to keep her patience and dreading keeping his gob in check. At least he wasn't being hostile, even if Robinson wasn't looking very impressed. 

"I'm sure you'd like to take a tour of the facilities and meet some of your future coworkers, Doctor?" Robinson said, trying to redirect things onto point. 

"That'll be great. What have you got to knock my socks off, hmm?"

 

 

The Doctor seemed to get along with everyone, even if he and Owen Harper were obviously on their best behavior. Jake had obviously taken him aside beforehand, since it had slipped Rose's mind to do so previously. Then again, she hadn't been certain she'd even get him through the front doors as of two days ago. He was poking through their equipment, commenting and enthusing over their ingenuity at modifying stun rays, complaining over the blasters and skeptical over the effectiveness of their modified riot gear. He mostly charmed everyone he met, even when he was being mildly insulting and rude. In other words, he was being the Doctor. The only one who seemed ambivalent was Robinson. 

Robinson was polite, but obviously had taken the reports with a grain of salt and was less impressed with the reality. Even Rose had to admit the Doctor was at his best in a crisis and this Doctor was obviously feeling his way through things, and she didn't miss noticing Robinson watching him like a hawk. Despite how mild mannered Robinson appeared, seeing that calculating, appraising look on his face chilled her. Taking note of that, she decided to keep a close eye on the situation and try to talk the Doctor into toning things down a bit. She'd enjoyed watching his face light up at a small oblong object he found on a shelf down in the archives that afternoon. Even more, the conspiratorial wink he gave her as had he pocketed it, smirking at her look of outrage. "Doctor, there's security cameras-" she hissed, glaring. "You can't just help yourself to things in here like that."

He gave her one of _those looks_. "Rose, if they suddenly dropped this during a thunderstorm on a Wednesday... well, lets just say it'd be someone else's problem. A whole lot of someones, that is. Certainly not ours, since we'd all be dead and vaporized, most likely."

"Are you kidding me? And you're gonna put it in your pocket," she said, disbelieving. Was he really that reckless? 

"Well, yeah. It's useful. Put it in a tray of water and with a few tweaks with the sonic screwdriver, it'll help me with shatterfrying the plasmic shell. Stabilizing it against electrical storms and Wednesdays won't take a tick. Not to mention keep some bumbling idiot from turning most of London into a giant smoking crater," he said triumphantly. Seeing the look of concern warring with excitement on her face, his voice turned cajoling. "Come on, Rose. Save the world from possible catastrophe, build a TARDIS – we never did make it to Barcelona, you know," he said, watching her face for her reactions to his words.

"Fine, but you're atleast showing it to Dad first," she said, knowing she was giving in. "And if anything blows up..."

"Ah –that was a smile," he said, teasingly. "I knew you were still in there, under that shell of boring responsibility. I promise I won't blow anything up. With this, at least. Can't promise about anything else, though. You know me, always love a good boom." 

"Well, one of us has to be responsible, before you blow up half of London or end up on the most wanted list for stealing alien artifacts," she retorted. 

"Who better to have them, hmm?" he asked, looking around the basement room, filled floor to ceiling with shelving. Most of those shelves were filled with unidentified odds and ends. Things they'd found, confiscated or had been turned in by various agencies or the public. "At least _I_ know what this stuff is. And it wouldn't be half of London. More like 57.36 percent, give or take a percentage point or two in either direction. That'd be the end of Henrik's again, though."

"Then help us. Unless you want some bumbling idiot killing us all, that is."

He looked at her, indecision writ large on his face. He wasn't sure he really trusted Torchwood- he had noted Robinson's apparent distrust of him and while he knew Jake, the others he didn't really. He knew Rose trusted them, but she was the type that thought the best of everyone. _Including me,_ he thought wryly. He fidgeted for a moment, thinking while moving had always seemed his method. Couldn't be that hard a decision, since he hadn't started disassembling anything and tinkering like he used to, she thought while watching him. Finally he looked up, meeting her eyes, showing his trust and saying, "If you think it'll be OK, Rose. If it's what you want. I'll do it, for now."

She smiled hopefully. "Really?" 

"Yup! But only until I need to spend the time on getting the TARDIS ready. I'll look around for the things I'll need for the growing matrix, and start. After that, well," he said, drawling the last out, running a hand through his hair, looking at her thoughtfully. 

"Well what?" she asked in anticipation, almost breathless. Was he going to do it? Was he going to shake off the vestiges of his depression and uncertainty? 

He started pacing while looking up at the tiled ceiling, his expression thoughtful. "Oh, back to the same old life, I guess."

"Yeah?" she said, barely containing her excitement. 

His eyes were dancing when he looked at her, smile still hesitant. "Resurrect the old team, again. Shiver and shake? If you want, that is," he said, quirking an eyebrow at her. 

She ran to him and hugged him while laughing with happiness. Before he could react, she kissed him like she had on the beach. He didn't hesitate to reciprocate, almost breathless when she pulled away, saying, "I'm Shake this time."

"That you are. Blimey, I guess that was a yes," he said, looking like the cat who'd gotten the cream. 

Rose was a little breathless herself when she finally stepped back, closing her eyes to steady herself mentally. Yeah, she'd actually kissed him. In the archives. Where there was CCTV covering the whole room, with security monitoring the building at all hours... "Um, Doctor, we should leave this for another time. When we have more privacy," she suggested ruefully. 

He looked around, giving her a quizzical look. "I don't see anyone else in here. Just you, me, in a locked room that requires a key and a combination to enter..."

"And the camera in the corner by the ceiling," she added pointedly. 

"Ah!" he said, remembering, turning and giving a jaunty wave to the lens. "Hello! Just snogging Rose Tyler. Carry on!"

She blushed. "You are impossible."

"Me? I'm not impossible. Incorrigible, indefatigable, and a little improbable, but not impossible," he said teasingly. 

"Cheeky too," she said, glancing at her wristwatch. "Time to be heading soon, it's half four now and Mum said something about cooking a roast. And you've got to show Dad your gewgaw before you leave with it."

"Pete will say yes. I know he will," he said with confidence, shrugging. 

"It's still polite to tell him before you walk off with your pockets stuffed with things from the archives, Doctor," she said firmly. 

He sighed, deflating slightly, shoving his hands in his pockets, the very picture of unwilling compliance. "Fine."

"Coming?" she asked, holding out a hand. He immediately brightened, pulling a hand out of a pocket and taking it in his own immediately. He gave her fingers a squeeze as they walked back to the lifts.

 

 

She wasn't sure what to make of that second kiss. One she'd once again initiated, this time with more of a reaction to him. _Don't rush this, Rose,_ she told herself fiercely. _Go too fast and I'll either spook him or end up regretting this. Think before you act next time. He still hasn't said anything about going anywhere with this beyond friendship. Even if he was just as happy to be there as I was. But it's the Doctor, all flirt, no action. Can't scare him off or read too much into this. Not yet, at least._

Beside her in the lift, he was having similar thoughts. He'd been surprised by the kiss. Hadn't expected it. Wouldn't have missed it for the world, either. Couldn't remember why they hadn't done that before. Why the whole emotional detachment thingy had been so important. But also he was scared. Did he do it wrong? Had he accidentally reminded her of his other self? He'd seen her bite her lip, obviously indecisive about something. _Was she still regretting this whole thing? Whatever I do, can't push her. Don't want to scare her off, he thought. Or read too much into this. Not yet, at least._


	10. Chapter 10

10

Mystery man.....

Robinson had finished the last of his paperwork, lingering as late as he dared, since he was only going home to an empty flat. His soon to be ex-wife had gone to her sister's in Dorset two days before with nary a word and most of her possessions. Not like the cat would be overly upset if he was late again. He'd finally gathered up his jacket and briefcase and was rummaging for his car keys when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Wha-" he sputtered, turning around, ready to face down his attacker.

Behind him was a tall man in a dark suit and dark glasses, looming ominously. The suit was obviously expensive. Government. High ranking government. Probably covert ops.

"Taking the men in black thing a bit far, are we?" he said testily, embarrassed at being startled. 

"Colin Robinson, I presume," the man said in a grating voice. 

Robinson squinted at him. "What's it to you, mate?" he asked, alarm bells going off in his head. "Who's asking?"

"Agent Ferguson, MI5. A person of interest was seen entering this building this morning."

"Who? We've had a half dozen new people come in just today. Another thirty in the last month, recruits and all," he asked tersely, letting his professional training take over, his suspicions confirmed so far.

"No name known. Uses various aliases," the agent said, pulling a mug shot out of his inside pocket and holding it out to Robinson. 

Robinson studied the photo carefully, looking up at the other man, hiding his concern. He wondered if there was any connection to the autopsy reports the Met had faxed over earlier that afternoon. "That one was here," he said flatly. "What's he suspected of? You lot usually deal in terrorism."

"They're believed to be involved in far worse. Greatest threat to the Republic. If not worse. Leaves a trail of bodies in his wake, according to the Intel," Ferguson said in a tone that gave nothing away. 

Robinson silently cursed the man's dark glasses, since they hid his eyes. Too well. There was nothing good that could come of this. Not in the least. There'd be plenty of fallout from this, even if it was a case of mistaken identify. Worse if it wasn't, for him atleast, if they took him in for his own minor involvement. "Are you sure?" he asked, hoping this was someone's twisted idea of a prank, or some strange test of loyalty. _Never took him for this kind of low methods,_ he thought. Any of them, for that matter. "He's got connections, Agent Ferguson, or whoever you are. And they've got even more connections than he does. You're talking about some of the most powerful, wealthiest people in the country. If not the world," he said in exasperation. "If this is someone's idea of a joke, I'm not laughing. I'll tell you that much."

"I assure you, this is very serious. The people he's associated with have little or no idea of the true danger he poses. He's very cunning, manipulative, and a master showman. Very few have seen what lies behind the veil."

Robinson thought of the odd moments he'd been able to observe the man in the photo. The faint impressions of something other, something alien in the way he'd gone from all frenetic energy to sudden stillness, eyes dark and impossibly ancient. Eyes that he had hardly dared meet, after the first time. Hidden depths in that one, and he didn't want to see what monsters lurked unseen beneath the surface. "Could be," he admitted with a slight nod. "He is a bit off, I'll agree. Dangerous? Seemed more a gadfly than anything. Should I have a team detain him?"

"No. Observe and report only. Any field missions, anything he handles or has an interest in. We're tracking his movements outside of Torchwood. Inside the facility is another matter. One we're sure you can assist us with."

"You want me to be a mole," Robinson said in disgust, blood running cold. 

"It's a matter of national security, possibly international. Surely you would want to help, seeing as you helped set him up with his current alias," Ferguson said, the threatening tone in his voice clear. Clearer even than the menacing way he'd leaned into Robinson's personal space, the last sentence low enough so no one else would've heard, even if they hadn't been alone in the dimly lit car park. Being alone with this ominous figure at half eight in the evening was not something he was particularly eager about, either. Not that broad daylight would've been much of an improvement, considering. This was going to be a bloody nightmare, before it was over. He'd be lucky to stay out of prison, himself. Much less have a job after. And he'd thought the impending divorce was the worst of his troubles. _Wouldn't even be a blip on the radar after this,_ he thought bitterly. "Fine then," he said grudgingly. "What's your plan, other than me observing and reporting?"

"We'll take him down when the time comes," was the even more ominous reply. 

"What? I can't be party to murder," he said firmly, growing pale. This was getting worse by the moment. 

"We'll try to take him in alive. My superiors have made that very clear," Ferguson said in a way that made it clear to him as well. "He has potential uses."

 _Never thought 'potential' could sound like such a bad word,_ Robinson thought. _Whatever this bloke's game is, he's serious. Deadly serious. And this man or whatever he is, is a lot more than we thought._ "I presume you're aware of his status, then," he said wearily. "And I'm not referring to his social standing, either."

"We are aware. Hence the interest."

Robinson nodded to himself. That sealed it then. "This is probably more in our purview, or UNIT's at that. Not MI5," he said in an attempt at getting himself into a better position on the situation. If they could handle this in-house, keep it under their immediate control, it would be best. Less of a mess, less potential for a complete disaster. 

"Not in this case. This goes way above your pay grade, or your authorization," Ferguson said, a negation to his hopes. 

"I was afraid you'd say that," he said ruefully. 

 

 

Gerald Sykes, one-time grocer and career drunkard, was a familiar, unwanted sight around the Crispin Estates and Farrow's Mews. Known to all and sundry as 'Old Sykes', he was usually to be found nursing a cheap bottle of wine or soliciting donations for one with a gap-toothed smile on his unshaven face. Commonly seen around those haunts, sitting in the sun in fair weather or crouched under an overhang in less accommodating seasons, he was considered mostly harmless, if an unsightly nuisance. Leading to why he was currently in an alley ten blocks down after been rousted by the rozzers, finishing the last dregs of another bottle by one of the few remaining warehouses still unconverted to flats. 

Personally, he wasn't so sure he liked the spate of gentrification that had swept through Shoreditch, leaving vagrants like him little refuge in their familiar areas. At least this block of warehouses, with a few still in use, rather than abandoned and mouldering, was as yet untarnished by the young toughs found around the estates. 

_Young people these days wouldn't know adversity if it bit them on the arse,_ he thought bitterly. _The years people of my time grew up in, well they made you or they broke you. Hard work with little pay for the sweat of your brow, different times they were. Not like what they've got today. Had a sense of decency, we did, of pride. Not like these young punks with their trousers half to their knees and the gals all tarted up like strumpets. And no respect for an old man wanting a wee tip in peace, either. The world was going to hell in a handbag, it was. No denying that, no sirree._

A flash of light caught his eye, then. Coming from across the way, it was neither dim nor bright but somewhere in between as he noticed the flickering again. Cursing this modern world that seemed dead set against him having a peaceful drink and maybe a kip after, he rose unsteadily to his feet. Stepping around broken glass, rusted soup tins and the other detritus that had failed to make the trip to the rubbish tip by the mouth of the dark alley, he shuffled towards the street. Looking first to his right, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Just the cracked pavements, graffitied sides of brick buildings and blown street lamps common to blighted areas like this, still untouched by yuppies. Not a hint at what the light had been or it's source. He turned his bleary eyes to his left, and saw more of the same, the narrow street quiet except for the normal hum of London's traffic at night carrying from the high road. But wait, there... across the way and two buildings up. Was that a flicker?

Damning his own foolhardiness and curiosity, he was nevertheless drawn forth, even if he was just going to be giving someone the rough side of his tongue for disturbing him. Unusual, it was. Wouldn't be one of the navvies with a welder's torch doing repairs at this hour, would it? _Terrible inconvenience this is,_ he thought as he drew level with the edge of the building.

Hoping whoever it was wasn't mucking about with what they shouldn't, since that old munitions factory left over from after the war was around here, he peered around the corner of the wall. What he saw was the last thing he'd witness.

City Police found his flayed body in a park Highgate two days later, still fully clothed with not a drop of blood on his ragged garments. Unbelievable as that was, they quickly put the report on the wire, hoping some other agency had seen the likes of it before. They surely had it, and the investigative coroner hadn't been able to even fathom how it was even possible. They just knew it was seriously disturbing and they had a real sicko on their hands. 

 

 

Ferguson was feeling accomplished as he got into his old Honda. Right up until the door handle came off in his hands. He'd muttered a few choice words under his breath, wishing that the money that allowed for well tailored suits would stretch enough to cover a new auto, but needs must. Clothing made a bigger impression on the colleagues, and he rarely was in his personal vehicle. The government motor pool was a good thing – he'd be taking cabs, otherwise. He'd be in one of those vehicles now, if it wasn't for the onboard navigation system. There being a chance of having a record of this trip wasn't a risk he'd take, hence the use of his own car. This heap, ready for the scrap yard, had as its only benefit being completely unremarkable to the CCTV cameras around the city. Also, it would be an unlikely target for the gangs of kids that specialized in auto theft. 

He wanted no one knowing of the meeting he was going to with his newest intelligence source. Especially since the provenance of the information was likely tarnished, at best. Highly irregular as it was, the legality of his actions didn't bother him in the least. The end would certainly justify the means, with the added caveat of protecting the country and his own life. He'd had no intentions of getting himself in this deep, but he'd been unable to resist the siren's call of possibly advancing his position in MI5 and more. He had hopes of getting good credentials that would lead to lucrative opportunities in either the civilian or government sector after his eventual retirement. One he hoped would be early enough so he could enjoy the wealth and power he imagined would come from this. And this source, it offered unimaginable power. An offer anyone would be stupid to refuse, even if suddenly having little control over his immediate actions and having to deceive his superiors was necessitated. Someday they'd all be bowing down, praising his foresight and planning. 

He pulled his car into an alleyway, out of the direct line of sight of any casual passersby, not that that was likely at this hour. Even the patrolling panda cars were unlikely to drive through here and tourists weren't going to come through on a lark. Not in a neighborhood like this, with the run down buildings that showed every year they'd been standing since they'd been rebuilt after the war. Showing more the years they'd mostly been abandoned with the factory closings in the 80s. As far as he knew, the area had been rundown even back in the 60s, before he'd even been born. He was unsurprised at the absence of vagrants squatting in the disused buildings, since his source was not the type that encouraged companions that couldn't be controlled. He himself wouldn't be here if he'd had the choice. 

He let himself in through a side door that hung off rusted hinges that were oiled enough to make no sound as he stepped in, broken glass from long shattered windows crunching underfoot. There was no need for a torch to light his way, as he could see a bluish glow from across the open space, hidden behind columns that stood like the sentinels to urban decay. Not that he dared contemplate what further light would reveal, since what he could see was enough to make his head hurt with the impossibility of it all.

Several figures stood, features hidden in dark robes that swept the floor. All of the same height and looming presence, they turned towards him as one being. Mouths unseen in recesses of midnight hoods intoned in unison, one voice from many, "You have done as told." 

A statement, knowing disobedience was not an option. Cold terror or their influence paralyzing him, freezing his feet to the floor. "I have, my lords," he said humbly, keeping his eyes on the cement beneath his feet. That was something that didn't defy his definitions of reality. 

"You have set the trap."

He nodded, unable to speak as he steadied himself. The voices echoed, somehow seeming to bypass his ears to fill the recesses of his mind. Like the hidden nightmares of his subconscious had taken form and now stood before him in the glow from a machine he'd appropriated from one of Torchwood's warehouses. Why these creatures of horror would want a rift manipulator was beyond him, and he was not keen on knowing the answer. _Just serve as you're told and reap the rewards later,_ he told himself. 

"You will know when the time has come for the taking," continued the cadence in his head.

"I hear and obey, my lords. I am your faithful servant," he said, hoping for a dismissal. 

"You will be rewarded when the time comes. You will bring others to serve us, to act as our hands and eyes as we restore ourselves to flesh. You will bring us to physical form."

"My lords," he said in obeisance, hiding the tremors of fear at the implications of those words. 

"You will go now, and wait," the being in multiple forms said, finally releasing him and allowing him to make his grateful escape. He ran, discarding his prized dignity in the face of his fear.


	11. Chapter 11

11

Bureaucracy is hell and so are the biscuits...

That was the Doctor's complaint come his third day at Torchwood. All the forms and reports he was required to fill out for all the objects in the archives he'd identified brought back sour memories of the pencil pushers and paperwork that had helped inspire him to steal a TARDIS in the first place. His disagreement on the method of educating his granddaughter Susan had only been the straw that broke the camel's back. That, and the whole hierarchical formality and the noninterference policy. But that was then, when he'd had more patience. Now here he was, expected to fill out forms like a good little worker drone. Ha! Donna's skills with paperwork and typing would've come in handy, but that was not his luck. At least he'd been able to artfully talk Lewis from the Mail Room into doing most of the forms for the first shelf. Only a couple thousand more to go and still enough paper left to bury half of London in. If he didn't go barmy in the meantime, that is. The least they could've done was give him one of their primitive 21st century computers that he could've sonicked into compliance, leaving him time for less trivial matters, like his hope of having a TARDIS someday. 

Twenty seconds to identify an object (mostly junk) then an hour on checking boxes and writing an explanation on the origin, functionality, possible future uses, and a threat assessment. Classifications such as medical equipment, weapon, tool, appliance, decorative novelty, or housewares was also required. And they wanted details! Written with a pen, even. How rubbish was that?

Robinson had sent back the first round of his reports with an attached note complaining about the Doctor's reports all being incomplete. Apparently "Not from around here", "garbage," "paperweight, possibly?" and "you might want to check iridium prices at the local scrap yard" weren't clear enough for them. The bloody cheek of it all! So he sent back more detailed reports. Apparently "Never you mind", "turn your insides to jelly", "can't tell you that, it'll disrupt the timelines and there goes me watching the Eastenders tonight 'cos of the collapse of all reality" and "read the explanation above, arsehole, and find someone else to play secretary" failed to make it clear he wasn't happy about doing paperwork. Nope, they'd sent him more forms, in triplicate and asked him to clarify that last report. He'd briefly considered torching the lot of it in a bonfire of red tape, but figured Pete would probably frown upon that. Probably Rose would, as well.

How hard was it to understand that a Rutan medical scanner wouldn't work on anything besides a cabbage on this planet? Maybe on Brussels sprouts, but that was iffy. Good for assessing the health of your garden's crop, but that was it. Unless they tried invading again, in which case, you could patch up the survivors after. He could hardly see why that would remain top secret. Apparently, besides being thick, the powers at be in Torchwood had something against sauerkraut. All this was leaving him with no time for the TARDIS coral. Hadn't even found a decent growing matrix yet, thanks to those sodding anal retentives upstairs. 

The sound of him banging his head on his hated desk must've reached Rose, who showed up to tell him it was time for lunch. He'd been so happy at the reprieve from the torture, though dismayed that she'd not been sympathetic as he'd hoped. 

"We all have paperwork to deal with. It's so there's a complete record for the outside auditors and people can be held accountable for their actions. Keeps everything in context, so this Torchwood doesn't end up making the mistakes of the one in the other universe," she said patiently, patting his arm. 

"But Rose! I have paper cuts! Me, with paper cuts! As if! And Lewis from the Mail Room ran off on me, the knave. I tell you, I'll be giving him a piece of my mind when I see him next. Thought we were mates and he does a runner, leaving me with millions of pieces of dehydrated tree pulp! No wonder deforestation is such a problem for you lot, it's all down here," he groused while they caught the lift to the second floor Hospitality section. 

Rose turned and gave him a look with a combination of amusement and horror. "You didn't! Oh, you did. Do you realize the entire fifth floor failed to get any of their mail this morning, and the labs on ten didn't get their shipment of Bunsen burners because you sidetracked half the Mail Room employees?"

He rolled his eyes, shrugging noncommittally. "Mayhaps Pete should hire more people – like get some poor sap to do my paperwork for me. I'm not meant for all this filing, collating, filling things in in triplicate, signing, all that rot. Where's all the action and adventure, Rose?" he pleaded. 

"There's more to this than just aliens and saving the world, Doctor. I know you're used to just running off and leaving the messy bits left over for us humans, but this is how it all works," she said, hating the look of outrage and disappointment on his face. 

He gave her a sad look as they got in the queue in the cafeteria. Shaking his head as he grabbed two trays, handing one to Rose, he said, "What happened, Rose? You used to be fun, full of pep, piss and vinegar, up for anything." He paused, a considering look on his face, ignoring the fact he was holding up the queue. "You grew up! That's what you did, Rose Tyler. You grew up and lost your sense of adventure, you did," he said in a accusing tone. 

Rose nudged him towards the server who was waiting with a loaded ladle, saying, "There's people waiting to eat, you know. And not everyone can stay in Never Never Land forever."

He stepped forward obligingly, but smirked over his shoulder at her, eyes flashing as he said, "Wanna bet on that? Watch me."

"You still owe me ten quid from the last time we made a bet," she protested. 

"Never charged you rent on the TARDIS, did I?" he teased while another server dropped something he believed had possibly been potatoes in a previous life on his tray. 

"You made me pay for the chips on the first trip! And brought me home a year late! I wouldn't pay a taxi driver who'd driven like you!" she said while she got her own serving. 

"There's only one of me! Supposed to be six pilots. You're lucky I'm so good, or you'd been even later. The ingratitude! Take you on a tour of the universe..." he complained as another dinner lady threw on something that was either gravy, or the congealed sludge from the sewers. When they sat down, trays finally topped with the shoe leather they had the temerity to call roast beef, he looked at Rose and said in a serious tone, "Growing up is overrated and my word, this food is awful. I want my money back!"

"You didn't pay for it, it's one of the employee benefits," Rose said with a sympathetic shrug. "Sorry, it's terrible, I know. Budget cuts, they said."

"You mean this is the fruit of my horrible, horrible labors?" he said in a tone of outrage. "I'm complaining to my union rep! Or the loony running this show. This is inhumane. Where's the management? Where's Pete?"

"He packs a lunch if he's in the office. Orders in for business luncheons and the board of directors meetings," she explained. "The rest of us pack our own or suffer. It's only bad on Thursdays. Would've warned you, but I forgot. Sorry."

 _Note to self, never ever eat here on a Thursday again,_ he thought, poking at the unappetising meal. _Note to self, part two, bring a banana next time. They're good, and even if it's not a party, I can hide the peels in all the paperwork below. And I'm really glad I don't have that superior sense of taste anymore, because I really don't want to know what's in the gravy. Or what form of vegetative purgatory the mash was dragged screaming from. Some kindly soul should send them back, spare us all from the misery._

He was still muttering under his breath when Sally joined them, sitting down next to Rose. She eyed the Doctor with curiosity, being entertained – like Rose was not – by his descriptions of the food. "Gravy has to be spiked with pear juice – has to be. Could hardly make it worse than it is. Could probably stop the Atraxi with this stuff. The meat – heh, could take on the Sycorax with this. Or sell it to them for armor. That is, if it's not just the illegally harvested flesh of Autons. Really, where do they get these cooks? Hire anyone who shows up with their own dustbin full of slops?" he complained, shooting heated looks at the dinner ladies behind their counter across the room. "Look at them, standing there all smug, plotting our demise via salmonella or botulism."

"Doctor, you can't keep looking at the dinner ladies like that. Someone's bound to think you've got bad intentions, or something. It's rude and someone's bound to get suspicious," Rose hissed, trying to be less noticeable. Not that he seemed concerned who was watching or listening to them. She'd already seen a half dozen people put down their food in disgust, dumping their trays and leaving with lost appetites, all while sending resentful looks in their direction. Not her fault he had no vocal filter and kept the gob, was it? Why were they glaring at _her_?

"Well they should be suspicious. Remember that cafeteria we were in before? Not the one with the Ood on Krop Tor, the one at the school. The Krillitanes. Though they had better cooks. Much better quality of edibles. Which this is not. Edible, I mean. Really, are they diving in rubbish bins for this stuff?" he continued, holding up a withered green bean as an example, not noticing the depopulation of the nearby tables or Rose getting redder with embarrassment by the minute.

"We'll pack you a lunch next time," Rose said, pushing her tray away, giving up hope of finishing her meal. Not that that was even possible now, after listening to the Doctor's musings on which sewer in Liverpool he thought the gravy had been scraped from. She looked at Sally hoping for a reprieve. "Help me, please," she said in a tone of exasperation. "He's got no sense of propriety."

Sally laughed. "Sorry, you're on your own there. He's got the most accurate description of Thursday's menu of roast beef and veg I've ever heard. Also why I keep track of the schedule and packed a lunch. Want a sandwich? I've brought extra. Got an apple, too," she offered. 

"Thanks," Rose said with relief, offering half to the Doctor after he gave her a hurt look. "Stop with the puppy dog eyes and no more descriptions of what we're eating or I'm not sharing again," she cautioned him, giving him a warning look. 

He shrugged, happily munching, only saying, "Your wish is my command, my lady." 

"Is he always like this? He's cleared half the cafeteria and that's no mean feat. Even Ethan the Eater from Accounting left – without even going back for thirds!" Sally exclaimed, waving a hand the indicate the area devoid of fellow diners around them. 

Rose nodded glumly. "Yes, or worse. Manners aren't his strong suit." 

"Doesn't sound it. He's funny, though. Should have seen the look on Croft's face, though. Thought the old cow was gonna throw up in her tray," she said with a satisfied look on her face. "Serves her right for sending me to Ipswich to follow up on that report of strange noises that turned out to be an unauthorized remodeling of the next door flat. Atleast he's good for entertainment purposes."

"Oy! Entertaining as I might be, I'm still right here," the Doctor groused, looking slightly peeved. 

Rose gave him a devilish look and pretended not to hear him. "Even if he's about as well behaved as my brother – who is four," she said pointedly. 

"How is the rest of your family? How are they adjusting to having him around?" Sally asked, playing along. 

"As well as can be expected. Tony's enjoying having a playmate at his own mental age and Mum's learning patience. Or atleast I think she is, she hasn't killed him yet. Dad will probably be transferring him to Cardiff if he doesn't learn to behave in public eating areas, I suspect," she said, ignoring the Doctor's fuming. 

"Still here," he muttered, hopefully eying Sally's bunch of grapes that she drew from her lunch pail. She redeemed herself in his opinion when she handed them over. He mumbled a thanks around a mouthful, ignoring Rose's groan of frustration. 

"Sorry about that," she apologized to her friend. "He's not used to civilization yet. Doctor, if you're not going to eat your own lunch, you can't go scaring everyone else from theirs or blagging someone else's."

"She offered," he said with a sniff. "So many rules. You are just no fun. An all and out spoilsport, you are, Rose Tyler. And by the way, I'm the Doctor," he said, suddenly remembering he hadn't introduced himself to Sally. 

"I figured that," she said with an amused smile, offering her hand for him to shake. "Sally Henderson."

"You another one of us poor sods they're trying to drown in a sea of paperwork, Sally?" he asked. 

"He hates paperwork," Rose added, smiling at the thought of some of the reports she'd seen. Most of which had set Robinson to letting lose a torrent of invectives. "He's already the bane of the Records Department and the terror of the Mail Room."

"I bet," Sally said, hiding a smile. "I mostly handle reports from the public at large, and the occasional fill in for weevil complaints when they're short handed. Stuff that's too minor for the heavy hitters," she explained. 

"Ah, the janitorial services," the Doctor said in a slightly bored tone. 

"Rude, Doctor, very rude," Rose said again, feeling like she was back babysitting her brother, like she had two months back while her mother was in Blackpool with Pete for the weekend. 

"That's me," he said gleefully. "And you're jeopardy friendly and very, very humdrum. No sense of adventure, no sense of humor, all straight laced and formal you are. Got yourself appointed Miss Manners, did you?"

"No, I just don't want to give people the wrong impression, Doctor. These are my friends and coworkers, you know," Rose said patiently, glaring slightly, expression softening when she saw his smile. He was trying to wind her up, the git. And it was working, damn him. 

"Meh, bunch of nagging toffs, other than Sally Henderson here," he said dismissively. "We'll teach them the meaning of fun. Right after we remove the broomsticks from their arses, that is. Look them all, looking all horrified and scandalized just because I said they're boring," he said, smirking at the glares from the steadfast souls still managing to eat three tables over. "Come on then, let's blow this joint," he said, jumping to his feet. "Go play hooky, set the town alight, raise hell, give them something to really piss and moan about. Allons-y!"

Sally had to laugh, even as Rose looked like she was considering thumping him about the head with her abandoned tray. This Doctor of hers was definitely going to stir things up, even if he was likely to get banned from the lunch room for life. Especially where Clarence Jones was acting like he'd taken the overheard "set the town alight" literally. Probably calling 999 on his mobile already, the prat.

Seeing the twinkle in his eye, Rose broke down and laughed, too. "Sorry, Doctor, but we've got responsibilities, like earning a paycheck. We'll have to be the terror of the prudes some other time, like the weekend," she said, standing up with her tray. "Now, be good."

He was atleast quiet in his good natured complaints about being an oppressed worker, showing he wasn't serious when he turned to bow graciously and wave cheerily at the remaining diners who eyed them as they left. His "No need to thank me for your dining entertainment" when he ducked back into the room only made her groan again. At least he wasn't moping in his jimjams, but he could try to be more professional, she thought. Not go around convincing people he'd escaped the mental ward or was raised by savages in a forest somewhere. So much for him impressing this lot with his brilliance. The servers were probably getting his description for the hit men.

"Though maybe this will help Ethan to loose a couple stone," Sally said, guessing her thoughts from Rose's expression. 

Rose couldn't help the giggle that escaped. "Yeah, that's a new one. Dieting by Doctor, the plan where you're only running from the lunch room instead of mortal danger."

"That's the spirit, Rose!" the Doctor said from beside her, surprising her as he was silent in those ever present Chucks. "I knew the old sense of humor had to be hiding in there. Hello!" he said with a cheeky wave. 

She bumped him with her shoulder, grinning back at him. "Go on you. Just next time, try to not gross everyone out, yeah? Bring a bag lunch or keep it to a dull roar."

"Just livening things up. You lot are way too serious. You'd all be crying in your mushy peas if not for me. Mourning the death of frivolity, all of you, with tears drowning in your tea," he said, bumping her back. 

"Better than being sick in their mash," she retorted, but without any heat in it. 

"If that's what you'd call it. Closer to paste, it was. Those poor horses from the glue factory," Sally threw in, being equally unimpressed with the standard canteen fare. 

"See!" the Doctor said, pointing at Sally. "She even agrees! Those poor horses, indeed. That could've been one of Arthur's relatives, Rose."

"We'll all bring bag lunches next time, then. You'll eat in the Archives, if you can't behave. And they don't serve horse or horse byproducts in the cafeteria here," Rose said, giving up while shooting a look at Sally. "Don't encourage him. You'll only make it worse."

He chortled as they got into the lift. "You ain't seen nothing yet, Rose Tyler. I'm gonna rock your world. I'll turn those old stiffs on their ears and watch them all gasp in horror when I throw all their stuffy conventions out the windows. Defenestrate their standards and destroy their expectations. Rebel without a TARDIS – thanks to those rum buggers inundating me in their hateful bureaucracy. Teach them, I will."

"Oh God," Rose sighed, resigned to the fact that chaos and the Doctor went hand in hand. She was hoping that she wouldn't have to live off her fame as the Vitex heiress, because the press would have a field day with him. She didn't want to imagine what he'd do in front of all the cameras that would undoubtedly end with his death at the hands of her mother once it hit the newsstands and embarrassed them all.

 

 

Sally watched them with interest. She didn't know what to make of the Doctor, whether to take him seriously and laugh or be horrified because he _was_ serious. She could tell though that Rose was familiar with his behavior from the past, even if she didn't seem to know how to deal with it in the present. She also didn't miss the affection in the Doctor's eyes when he teased Rose, thoroughly enjoying himself. He reminded her of an overgrown kid trying to be a grownup with dubious results, his vocabulary belying that presumption. Then again the combination of suit and trainers should've given her all the proof she needed. 

He was a strange one, that much was clear. But obviously amusing and obviously deeper than he looked if they'd left him alone in the archives. She briefly wondered if they should be expecting extraterrestrial pranks, alien whoopee cushions and the like. It was going to be interesting in the least, she thought as she bid them farewell before getting off on her own floor. Very interesting, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, love it, hate it? Could someone let me know what they think so far?


	12. Chapter 12

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12

Suspicious minds....

 

Mission accomplished, getting Rose to laugh and show some of her former spirit. Acting like a prat in front of everyone in the cafeteria was worth it, even if the food really was that bad. No exaggerations on his part, there. Especially since no one took the class clown seriously, did they now? They'd be thinking he was very, very harmless. Not a threat at all. No defences in the least. The very soul of innocence they'd think. And who could blame them, really? Misplaced conceptions leading to assumptions, presumptions in an eternal cycle of folly. Foolishness, really. Expectations, and all that piffle.

The Doctor had been smiling to himself contentedly when he'd made it back to the basement Archives, humming off tune under his breath and looking around before pulling out the sonic and opening the door. Wouldn't do to have witnesses, now would it? Even if he was supposed to be in the area, popping the lock with his own alien tech was bound to be a massive violation of the rules and regulations. Especially where they didn't even know he had it. No sense in informing anyone, setting off a panic, hence the secrecy when he did use it. 

Something about some of the people here set his teeth on edge. Something was off, nudging at the peripherals of his remaining Time Lord senses. He'd been almost tempted to try sussing out the timelines, but hadn't. Didn't want to chance another massive headache like last time, or worse, not be able to see the streams of what could, what must, and what must not be stretching out. The murkiness of those senses scared him, reminded him that more had happened in the metacrisis than just an extra self with a bit of human DNA. The full implications were something he wasn't ready to consider yet, so here he was, running on what he thought was base human instinct. Nine hundred years of survival instincts combined with human intuition. Yeah, he was making plans for once, instead of just doing it on the fly. Novel, it was. Completely new.

So far, there hadn't been much to justify the sense of unease. Mostly things that most would dismiss as paranoia, or the uncertainty of a new place around new people. Anyone but him. The considering looks, the conversations halted when people saw him coming, the awkwardness everyone here treated him with – except Rose, Jake, and Sally, that was. They, atleast, took it all in stride. He'd hardly seen Pete other than in the evenings, back at the mansion. Rose had said Pete mostly handled the political side of things now, even if he kept in the loop on the happenings on the lower floors. 

He'd tried blaming the anxiety on the dreams he was still dealing with. The dreams that said his other self wasn't dealing with things as they were any better than he was. Possibly worse. Dreams of buses on barren planets and a horde of devouring creatures; of being taken before the Shadow Proclamation for crimes supposedly committed; of imprisonment on a Judoon ship, with a death-defying escape after. It was perfectly plausible that the terror of his nightmares might be bleeding through into his waking hours to cause this tension. Perfectly good logic, that. Except it was more than that. Far more, wasn't it? 

Then, there was the black Jeep that had followed them back to the mansion the night before. A prickling on the back of his neck starting in the car park that set him to looking behind him for someone watching them. Finding no one there hadn't soothed his nerves any. He'd almost dismissed it again as paranoia, thinking he was going mental, until the Jeep had shot out of the exit behind them minutes later, to follow them for miles beyond simple coincidence. He'd kept up his end of the conversation with Rose while surreptitiously watching them in the mirrors, making note of the tags on the front of the vehicle. The fact that looking up those tags had come back as belonging to the government, hadn't reassured him any. Only set the suspicions to grow. 

Ooh, and wasn't that just wizard? A Time Lord brain trying to handle the humdrum mundane bits with something on the horizon. Bound to get a bit tricky, wouldn't you say? All that intellect, trapped in a mortal shell. All that fragility, wrapped up with immediacy, and harnessed to all that knowledge. Sounded almost fun, it did. 

The Archives appeared much as he'd left them before the foray to the lunch room – a disaster in scattered forms, piles of gadgets, and his coat thrown over the back of the chair behind the desk. He'd already been modifying the pockets – thank the universe for leaving him with atleast the sonic. Otherwise he'd have to be content with pockets that weren't bigger on the inside and he could only fit so much in the suit jacket. And he had the feeling he'd probably be needing the extra storage, even if you could only do so much modifying on 21st century leather coats. 

After glancing around the room, the Doctor quickly leaned back around the door frame, looking for anyone coming. No seeing anyone, he closed the door and innocuously crossed the room. Pretending to be studying the remnants of an emotional inhibitor from a Cyberman, he deftly disabled the security camera in the corner. Quickly, he pulled it apart and messed with a few relays before reassembling it.

There, good as new, he thought. Other than they'll always see things as if I'm being a good little worker, doing as I'm told, not what's really going on. Rigging a Vinaldi perception filter had been child's play, finally getting him some privacy. Privacy to really see what they had down here that could be useful. 

The Doctor had been skirting around the edges of the Archives, quickly sorting the useful from the garbage from the things with a negligible impact. Some things he had his own uses for, some things he'd be hiding from prying eyes and ignorant fingers for good. Some things could possibly be used on the TARDIS, hardware that would come in handy after the organic bits had grown. Others that would be convenient with the growing phase. More that would be indubitably dangerous in the hands of the ignorant, like anyone but him. A small number of things would be dangerous for anyone to possess – especially if they weren't ignorant. 

Not that he didn't trust Pete's intentions, but some things even Rose would've agreed would be best dropped off in the nearest black hole. He had seen a few things that had confirmed his need to get things going. Possible steering issues be damned, he needed a TARDIS, and quick. Time to get growing. And he wasn't that optimistic about the altruism of Torchwood's personnel to be doing it in the open. The vibes he'd been getting told him he was on borrowed time to get things in motion. Things like an escape plan or at the very least, a place to go when running for your life became necessary. 

It wasn't just the whispered gossip that was causing his anxiety. It was that autopsy report he'd caught a glimpse of on Robinson's desk. He'd been called there for another semi-hostile and very sarcastic explanation on the proper way to fill out forms. (No objectionable language, insults, or smiley faces allowed, no Shakespearean quotes, foreign phrases, or sarcasm, either.) While quietly sitting through the reprimand (mentally reciting Pi to the 147th place, thank you very much), he'd noticed the seal from the coroner's office on that bit of paper in the corner of Robinson's desk. The notation at the top of "Forwarded From Metropolitan Police, All Agencies Be On The Lookout" had quickly drawn him in.

A mystery. He loved a good mystery. Anything was better than the boredom from paperwork. He'd quickly calculated the statistical likelihood of Robinson letting him see the file, and finding it somewhere in the probability of pigs flying without genetic modification and selling ice skates to the Beast on Krop Tor, made his decision. He'd promptly went back to his hidey hole in the basement, filled out forms as per regulations, and turned them in in person. Perfect distraction method so he could lift the file with a bit of slight of hand, slipping the report in with his own after Robinson had given his approval to his efforts. As if he couldn't fill out one puny little form designed for the unimaginative halfwit pencil pushers here. Ha! A bit brilliant, he was. 

A brilliance that he feared wouldn't be much help once he'd scanned that damned report. Not with what he feared those results meant. Bad enough they wanted his own blood samples and medical information on file- if they knew what he knew, he'd never leave this building alive. No matter what Rose and Pete did to save him. 

Something was here, in London, waiting. Something he'd heard stories about. Things whispered in the dark to scare children, told around campfires for delightful chills. Legends told by his own people, even, while the teller and listeners alike hoped they weren't real. Forbidden tales from before the universe itself, before time and space had existed. Things that Torchwood and all of mankind wouldn't stand a chance against, nor he himself unless he was very, very good. And good wouldn't amount to a packet of Jammy Dodgers run over by a lorry if he was unprepared. 

That something was old. Older than time itself. Forgotten by most, disregarded as fable and fantasy. But he'd seen their kind before. Almost destroyed earth, they had. He'd barely outsmarted them then. The stuff of nightmares they were. Shape without form, shade without color. Old T.S. Elliott had been brilliant. Pure, simple genius. Or he'd been seeing things he shouldn't. No time to muck about fussing over the semantics on that one, you daft git. Because things were going to be going pear-shaped, soon. 

Davros' experiments with the reality bomb must've weakened the walls worse than he'd thought. Far worse, if it had let one of them through. Especially since Valdemar's sacrifice had sealed them off. The last one he'd dealt with, he'd only been saved when its own stupidity had gotten its corporeal form killed, when one of it's own servants had turned on it. Never summon anything stronger or more viscous than you are, good lesson that. Hopefully they hadn't figured that out, or this was a different one than he'd faced previously. 

They were coming. Forget that, they were already here. And they'd be coming after him. Their servants would be after him soon, if they weren't already setting a trap for him. He wouldn't be left to his own resources long once they'd sniffed him out. They'd feel his presence enough for that. As he'd known what he was seeing in the copied photos from the morgue. 

The police might not be able to put two and two together, but he could. Not that he thought less of them, some things only came from experience. Experience they wouldn't have with their short lives of a century or less. Centuries of experience didn't count for much against that lot, either. 

Time to get ready. Time to get ready to run, and hope to keep Rose and her family out of this and safe. Because they were coming, and he'd be lucky to escape this alive, much less protect any individual people. Because they were coming, and would stop at nothing to make everything in their own image. They would turn the population to mindless slaves before turning their sights on the rest of reality. The Daleks had nothing on them, if they got to their full strength. 

As much as he was tempted to tell Pete, set the entire strength of Torchwood after them, call in UNIT even, that just wasn't an option. This was going to take finesse. Many, they'd be seen and quickly destroyed, setting those plans into motion all the faster. Leave them alone, while quietly creeping around the edges and he'd easily find their one weakness and destroy them. 

Stopping them wasn't his big concern, not really. It'd take them years to go international, aeons for intergalactic. It was the damnable human servants that gave him pause. They were the real danger, and from the things he'd sensed, they weren't far. If they'd come this far, who knows where they'd spread too. If the rot started at the top, things could progress really far, really fast. Really dangerously, too.

Suddenly he'd felt old, realizing that. So old. So very fragile with one life to live and so much he'd hoped for. So much to lose. And it wasn't fair. It just wasn't. This time, they'd find he wasn't going to be so merciful. To hell with second chances, at that. Give them a chance, and they'd enslave half the city before teatime. Before you could say "My Granny's bed slippers," even. Be after the whole world next, they would. To hell with mercy, this was war, and he already had a reputation for blood, anger and revenge. So be it. Defend the universe, indeed. 

The only thing to figure out really, was when and how much he told Pete. So he wouldn't worry and so he could stop Rose from following him. Not like that was likely to work, she'd gone hopping universes after him, impossible be damned. Alright then, figuring out what to tell Rose, then. Priority number one. Tell her something in a way so she wouldn't hate him when he had to leave her behind, wouldn't follow... oh bloody hell. When had she ever listened to anything he told her? Jeopardy friendly, indeed. Better figure out an escape plan for two. Better hurry, because this was bound to go wonky fast and he wasn't sure in the least how to stop this. 

 

 

Rose smiled to see the Doctor stretched out on the floor, various bits and bobs scattered around him where he was sprawled, hair in complete disarray, looking like he used to when he'd found something new to tinker with. He hadn't even noticed her unlocking the door. "Found anything interesting?" she asked, leaning over the desk.

He'd quickly looked up, the lines of tension on his brow quickly disappearing as he beamed up at her. "Not really, just disabling this certifical field gun – don't want anyone to drop it and stop the planet's rotation. Or worse, speed it up and... Oops! There goes gravity! Everything flattened like pancakes, and we wouldn't want that, would we? Little flat crepe people everywhere...."

She suppressed a shudder of horror, not missing that he was definitely hiding something worrying him. He tinkered the most when there was a problem to solve. "Definitely not. Rather like the shape I am, thank you. Don't want to look like a flounder." 

"If anyone could pull of the flounder look, it'd be you, Rose. But I rather like the shape you are, nicely rounded in all the right places, the perfect example of being three dimensional," he grinned, glad he was good at hiding his concerns. Telling Rose immediately would be a bad idea. She'd want to help, and that would put her in danger. The very last thing he wanted. Timing would be tricky.

"Flirt," she said teasingly. "Come on, it's already after five. Time to get out of this place and get something to eat. I'm starved."

"Food sounds good. I could do with something. Bit parched, too," the Doctor agreed, stuffing the components he'd been fiddling with in his pockets. He was somewhat surprised when Rose didn't call him out on that, but she was already halfway towards the door.Time to pretend everything was all sunshine and roses. Yes, Rose. The very brilliant pink and yellow girl that he was going to stop at nothing to protect. He might not have all of time and space again yet, or two hearts, but he was hers, if she wanted, that is. 

On the ride home, he was once again watching the mirrors, looking for a sign of a tail, like the night before. He must've been really bad at hiding his anxiety because Rose turned to him and fixed him with one of those looks once the car was parked in the garage next to the mansion. 

"What?" he said, giving her a baffled look. Hoping that for once Rose wouldn't see through it. Hoping she'd decide to leave it alone for once. Cursing the unlikelihood of that, even more. 

"You're up to something," she said, looking at him closely. "Something's eating at you. You picked at your food last night, and Mum didn't do the cooking, Mabel did, so it's not the quality of those edibles."

"Me?" he said, putting on an expression of hurt innocence, suddenly taking an interest in the workings of the radio on the dash. Damn this face that shows too much, he thought. Must be the freckles. Can't do inscrutable with freckles. Forget winning at poker, then.

"Doctor, you've been jumpier than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs," she said, throwing up her hands in frustration. "Either tell me now, or I'll ask again – with the whole of my family looking on. I'm sure you'd love explaining whatever it is to Tony after."

He blanched slightly, looking up at her. "I don't really know for sure, just that it's bad. Mostly a suspicion of mine."

"How bad? Cybermen in London bad, or stuck orbiting a black hole bad?" she asked, a look of apprehension on her face. 

"Really bad. Definitely not good. As far from being hunky dory as you can be bad. Molte, molte malè, even. Italian for very, very, bad," he said, worrying her more with the bleak expression on his face. 

"What?" was all she managed, concerned at how pale he seemed, eyes way too dark and shadowed. His normally wild hair was hanging across his eyes, reminding her they'd have to find him some hair gel, after they stopped this crisis or whatever it was. He'd seemed to run out of words, sitting there doing a decent impression of a statue, not even blinking, to the point where it worried her even more. 

"Doctor?" she said, nudging him with an elbow. That seemed to get him out of his reverie because he turned then, giving her a pained, haunted look. 

"Something is coming. Something big. Something I don't know if I can stop," he said in an oddly emotionless voice, dropping his eyes from hers to stare at his hands. A tone that didn't sit well with his expression, like he was already disassociating himself from whatever agonizing turmoil that was to come.

There was a moment of silence where she ran through the possibilities in her head as he played with his seat belt before slowly unclasping it, in a manner more reminiscent of a man facing his own execution, than someone trying to talk to another person. She'd thought he was OK, that everything would be alright with his antics in the cafeteria that afternoon. He'd been normal, for him atleast. But now, with this, she didn't know.

"Doctor, you're scaring me. Tell me. What is it? What's wrong? I'll help you, whatever it is," she said, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. Trying to not sound scared.

"Your worst nightmares come true, but far worse than that. Something old, ancient even. Old before Gallifrey even existed. Ancient before my people were even out of their mud huts, and we had a billion years of history," he said in a hollow voice. "My worst nightmares don't even hold a candle to them."

All together, it was scaring her more by the second. No version of the Doctor should look that terrified, helpless, or alone. Not if she had anything to say about it. Not on her watch. "Whatever it is, whoever they are, we'll deal with it. You and me? The stuff of legends, yeah? Better with two?" she said, hoping to get him to smile. Hoping for a confirmation that he wasn't planning to leave her somewhere safe when he really needed her. Like he always did.

"Oh Rose," he said in a heavy voice. "It's... I'm scared. I don't know if I can protect you, much less myself. They'll be coming after me. I'm their first target, once they're strong enough. Anyone with me will be as well, especially you." 

"Well, they'll have to come through me," she said resolutely, reaching out to take his hand. Relieved he's not resorting to his old methods, yet. "So tell me what it is, Doctor. So I atleast know what we'll be dealing with."

He squeezed her fingers, finally meeting her eyes again, swallowing thickly before saying, "I think the Old Ones have returned."


	13. Chapter 13

13

Explanations and planning... 

It was after dinner now, a meal where the Doctor and Rose had both made an excellent attempt at rearranging the contents of their plates, both too consumed in thought to have any appetite. They'd at least managed to keep up the facade of normalcy, even if they'd both been somewhat quieter than normal. Jackie had just gone up stairs to get Tony cleaned up and ready for bed when Rose gave him that look again. 

"What?" the Doctor silently mouthed at her, hoping against hope for a reprieve. Time may have been of the essence, but he rather liked procrastination. Whoever said there was no time like the present never had a TARDIS. 

Rose gave him a glare, then nodded her head towards Pete, who was finishing his own dinner, completely oblivious to their antics. "Tell him," she mouthed back. "Or I will."

In for a penny, in for a pound, the Doctor thought. He attempted a pleading look, but seeing no crumbling of resolve on Rose's part, he gave in to the inevitable. Could use the extra help, at that. A little back up. Damn these Earth girls, always getting him into complicated situations. Can't just be content with the status quo, can they?

The Doctor gave her a look of long suffering, steeling himself and scrambling for the words he'd need. A bit of finesse was required for this, a conversational flair that would knock their socks off. "Uh, Pete?" he stammered out, inwardly cursing. So much for wowing anyone. 

Pete had already noticed the tension between the two of them, the barely held in excitement, and neither of them eating much. He'd been preparing for this, gamely taking his time and pretending this was all normal. He decided to take the lead before the Doctor managed to stutter himself into oblivion on the other end of the table. If Rose didn't just blurt it out after giving up in frustration with his sudden lack of words. That must be a first, in any universe. The Doctor without words.

"Let's take this to my office, hmm? Looks like you two have something to let out in the open, if you"- pointing at Rose- "don't throttle him"- pointing then at the Doctor- "before he can finally manage to spit it out," he said, pushing his chair back and standing. "The whole drama has me all on tenterhooks over here, and near as I can tell, the only way to get any peace around here is to get you two to talk."

Grumbling, the Doctor followed Pete to the office, Rose right behind him, prodding him on. As if she thought he'd attempt prevaricating or avoiding the whole thing completely with a spot of judicious exercise. As if he'd go running off now. Be a bit tricky, that would. They'd all be following right behind, no matter how fast he legged it. Not that he couldn't dream of it, however.

"Ok," Pete said as soon as he was sitting comfortably in his chair behind the desk. "Start talking."

Rose was sitting on the sofa, the Doctor stood near her, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall. All eyes were on him now. No backing out of this one, was there? "Alrighty, then. Where to start," the Doctor drawled out, straightening and uncrossing his arms once the silent anticipation grew to a head. He started pacing, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to come up with the words Rose and Pete were waiting for. Thank goodness Jackie was upstairs, or she'd be demanding the answer before he could even think about it. Who knows what he'd say then. Seeing both of them giving him identical looks of impatience, he finally started in. "Long ago and far away... No, sorry. That's a fairy tale, not what we need at the moment. Oh, er, right," he said, seeing Rose getting more frustrated. 

"Is this about you two moving out and getting married?" Pete interrupted. 

"What?!" 

The Doctor and Rose both gave Pete a look of shocked bafflement, the Doctor looking more startled than anything. 

"No, no no. No. Geeze Louise, don't you lot ever give up? How does 'long ago and far away' translate to 'we're running to Gretna Green, see you in three months after the honeymoon'? Wrong kind of fairy tale, Sonny Jim. Atleast give us a chance to get stuff sorted here before you break out the meringues and flowers," the Doctor said in a tone of exasperation. "Now zip it, I'm trying to explain something that'll blow your little minds."

Rose muffled a giggle at the glare he was giving Pete. He gave her a look, saying she was not immune from the order to "zip it." Knowing he wouldn't get going unless they all piped down, she smiled and waved at him to continue. 

"Thank you," he said with a sniff. "Long before this universe existed, or actually any of these parallel worlds, there were these beings from the universe before..."

"There was another universe before this one?" Pete said in a tone of disbelief, leaning forward over his desk. "But...how?"

The Doctor closed his eyes in frustration, visibly tamping down his irritation. "Oh Rassilon, you bloody..." he muttered under his breath, before opening his eyes and taking on an expression of extreme patience. Like he was explaining to simpletons. "Fine, quick history lesson. Before the big bang – there was another universe. And that should be big bangs, plural. It's all cyclical. Planets, stars, and all that... stuff, expanding until the mass of it all gets too great and the gravitational field grows to the point where it all suddenly collapses in on itself. Folds into this little teeny, tiny speck of stuff, then, 'Bang!' Well, more like a 'pop' but that's just too anticlimactic. No one goes oooh and ahhh over the Big Pop, so 'bang' it is..."

"Doctor, we don't need that much of the backround information, just what's got you all worked up," Pete interrupted again, wondering where this was going. It had to be going somewhere, but he'd rather find out before his next birthday in four months. At the rate this was going, the Doctor would still be explaining the mysteries of the cosmos without getting to the important bits. Like why they were both twitching over dinner.

"I'm trying! How am I supposed to explain anything to anyone with the whole peanut gallery butting in every two minutes? And you call me rude. Atleast I let you talk without interrupting," he snarked, pacing again. 

"Focus, Doctor," Rose said, shooting her Dad an apologetic look. He gave her an inquiring look that she shook her head at, indicating she didn't know enough to explain it herself. Just because he'd told her enough to scare her, didn't mean she had any clue what he was planning. Not like he'd really explained at all before. 

Sighing and giving Pete a warning look, he continued. "Right, then. Where were we? Oh, yeah, the universe before this one. When that one collapsed on itself to form this one, these beings managed to survive it. Popped themselves into a parallel world just in time to save themselves. Most were later trapped in between the worlds, after losing their physical form, but the memory has lived on."

"What are they, then?" Rose asked. 

"Good question," the Doctor said. "If they are who I think they are, and even the Time Lords weren't certain, they're the Old Ones. The Elder Gods, some called them. They have been here before, or at least the other world, that is. Have to come up with a name for it. Universe Prime? Mickey's World? Something we'll figure out later, I guess. But anyhoo, they were known by many names. Mankind's cultural memory keeping the stories alive. Nephelim, Shobogans, the Sidh, the Titans, Daityas, the Formorians, the giants of old myth. Leviathan, too. Those were just the ones that took to the oceans. Many shapes and forms for the same thing. Your greatest fears from the time you climbed down out of the trees. You lot even put a petroglyph of one on the hills of Dorset, to remind you of what's really hiding in the dark. Provided that's here," he said, giving Pete and Rose an inquiring look. 

Pete nodded. "The Cerne Abbas Giant is still there, Doctor. But what in blazes does this have to do with us?"

"They're back, or at least one of them is," the Doctor said in a low voice. "Don't really know at the moment."

"Are you telling me we've got a giant we've got to deal with?" Pete sputtered, looking at Rose for confirmation. It didn't reassure him any to find her looking amazed and excited, much less the Doctor's look of quiet horror.

"Not as such, no. They've got no physical form, as yet. But that's worse. They spread their madness and insanity through servants. Mindless slaves they become eventually. Take those little bits you keep to yourself, hidden inside in the dark. The jealousy, the greed, the anger, and they twist it into something they can use. It spreads, like wildfire. And us without even one of those adorable little aeroplanes with the huge bucket underneath to put it out."

"Are you talking possession? Like the Beast in the Pit did to Toby?" Rose asked, all excitement replaced with a look of fear.

"Well, minus the weird, squiggly writing on the face and add the fact it can take over and influence many instead of one, kinda. But not really. That was something totally different," the Doctor said, staring at the ceiling while thinking.

"How different?" Rose asked, exchanging a look with Pete. "And what are we going to do about it?"

"Well, some say they used to be like me – other me – in their day, except they became like gods. Lost their physical form from the efforts of one of their own, trying to stop their bid to the ultimate rule over the cosmos, trying to stop the death and destruction. Most got trapped in the Void, but they've been trying to get back, to gain their shape and full powers again. Rule over the worlds."

"And to stop them? Is this something I should be calling in favors for assistance with?" Pete asked, already getting into game mode. This was serious, indeed. 

"Stopping them?" The Doctor let out a humourless chuckle. "There's nothing you can do, Pete. The more you gather, the more that will die. Just do what I tell you when the time comes. How good at acting are you?"

"Good enough. Trust me on this," Pete said, imitating the thumbs up gesture made famous in the Vitex adverts. "Why?"

The Doctor seemed to be getting more anxious and unsettled with the telling, but finally stilled, drawing himself to his full height. With eyes that were cold, determined and accepting of his fate, he said, "Because they'll be coming for me. All the forces they can muster."

"Why you?" Pete asked, wondering if this was just the Doctor's flair for the melodramatic. Maybe they should see about finding him a hobby. Pinochle or golf. Something to keep him occupied beyond the Archives. 

"Because I'm the only one who poses a threat to them. They considered Time Lords a threat. They'll think the same of me, even if they're after the wrong one of me. Never had any sense, they didn't. All that power and barking mad, and thick on top of that. Older and thicker than I am, even," he replied, a considering look on his face. 

"Then we'll protect you," Pete said simply, his mind made up on the matter. "We protect our own. Especially family."

The Doctor sighed. Still not getting it. "There's no protecting me when you won't be able to even save yourselves. The only way..." he groaned, looking over to Rose, face softening. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Doctor, what the hell are you planning? You're not thinking you're gonna leave me behind again, are you?" she said, getting angry. 

"Doctor, Rose, calm down. No need for hasty decisions here. What's got you so convinced that we can't protect you from these Old Ones?" Pete said, trying to be the voice of reason. As if reason would ever work on either of them. Never had before. 

"You've got a mole," the Doctor said flatly. Seeing Pete's incomprehension, he continued. "Not the kind like I've got, the kind where someone who works for Torchwood is telling things they shouldn't. One of those servants has already made contact with at least one of your people. And before long, they'll be converted too."

"How do you know this?" Pete asked, even more concerned. His Torchwood, corrupted? It was unthinkable. That the organization he'd built from the ground up could possibly pose a threat to the Doctor and possibly Rose....

"Don't blame yourself. Nothing you could do to stop it. Only one way to draw them off, keep them from taking over entirely. They're already ensconced within branches of the government, military, too, most likely," the Doctor said, reading Pete's expression. "They followed us last night. Black Jeep, came out of the car park behind us. Turned off two streets back from your front gate, even."

"Oh God," Pete said, deflating at the news. "It's that bad, is it?"

"Yup," the Doctor said morosely. "Won't be long before they come. Few days, at most."

"What're we gonna do, Doctor?" Rose asked in a timid voice. She wasn't sure what he was going to do. The whole thing sounded so hopeless. He sounded so hopeless, like he'd already given up the fight. 

"Only thing I can do. Run for my life. Keep them distracted while looking for me, keep them desperate and guessing, while I come up with a plan. Me, planning things. Gone completely mad, I have. Shows you're never to old to try something new. I'll figure something out. I'm clever," he said, looking deep into Rose's eyes, hoping she'd trust him this far. He finally settled on the sofa, crouched with his hands between his knees. His voice was flat, determined and hard. "I'm going to have to run, hide, go to ground. Done this before. Made myself human, even. Draw them off and slow their plans down with them looking for me instead of spreading their influence through the population."

"Doctor, you're not leaving me behind," Rose said, leaning over and grabbing his chin, forcing him to look at her. She was not letting him take the coward's way out and knowing, also, that she'd see if he was going to lie. More than anything, she wanted truth from the man infamous for lying to spare others from the truth, and especially when the truth was too horrible to contemplate. 

He gave her a weak half smile, eyes searching her face. Knowing that resistance was futile. "Wouldn't dream of it," he murmured, trying for his usual affable tone. "Never in a million years."

"Doctor," she grated, knowing him too well to believe that.

"Fine, then. Yes, I considered it. Same reason why he left you here with me, him being too much of a silly old man to think you'd be any safer here. Ha! Walking trouble magnets, both of me. Anything that can go wrong will do, and usually involving me. But I gave up on that idea. Got enough insight from Donna to know you'd be trampling right along after me. Better to have you come with so I know where you are, than have you come popping up unexpected at the worst moment possible," he said softy, wincing at the look on her face when he mentioned the other Time Lord's reasoning. 

_Moment of truth, Theta, moment of truth. Give her the chance to do the sensible thing to do, leave a tired old Time Lord to his fate. Just please, I don't think I can do this alone. Don't let me do what my instincts are telling me to. Forgive me for being a selfish doddering fool, but you reeled me in, my precious girl, and I can't go it alone anymore. I can't be the lonely god anymore._ "You'd follow me no matter what I said," he said heavily, resignation in his voice.

She smiled at him, knowing she'd won this one. "You better believe it. It's me and you, together like before. The old team."

He hazarded a smile. "But it's dangerous..." He tried one last time to dissuade her, let her know how bad it could be. 

"As if that ever stopped me," she retorted with a grin. "Never did before, why should it stop me now?"

"So, what can I do," Pete asked, wondering where his efforts would fit into the picture. "What are you going to need to avoid this creature or creatures?"

Pete listened to the Doctor outlining his plan with a growing sense of dismay and apprehension. He wouldn't have been so aghast if it wasn't for the fact Rose looked just as concerned and worried. But she mostly looked determined, they both did. He didn't like his end of the deal, feeling like he'd be betraying them. Or worse. 

"What am I going to tell Jacks," he sighed. "She's not going to like this one bit."

The Doctor paled at that, looking even more alarmed than he had over the Old Ones. "Ooh, Jackie Tyler. Forgot about her for a moment there. Sorry, Pete, you're on your own there. I'd wait a bit before you tell her, because she's going to blow her top. The Tyler Mansion on Volcano Day."

"You can't tell me you're planning to do this without telling my Mum," Rose protested. 

"Rose, in what reality do you see her letting us pull this off, or her not spilling the beans? Because wherever that reality is, it's not here," the Doctor said, even more exasperated.

"Still, she'll worry about us. Remember the last time we did something like this?" she asked pointedly. 

"Yeah," he said with a shudder, weighing the dangers of the Old Ones against a pissed off Jackie. "No help for it, though. She'll calm down eventually. Her reaction will help sell the whole thing, in the end." _And if the Old Ones don't get me in the end, she will, no matter what._

"You'll be a wanted man, Doctor," Pete said, reminding him of the significance of this decision. 

"Nothing new, really. Got me a partner in crime, atleast. I can be a man on the run again. Love the running," he replied with a grin, trying to allay Pete's fears. "It'll be fine. Trust me, I'm the Doctor."

Pete gave a humourless laugh. "I know. That's what makes me worry and somehow, I think you've got the easy part of it all. You at least are running away and hiding. I've got to stick around to deal with the aftermath."

.


	14. Chapter 14

14 

_Hearts gone cold and out of time...._

 

One last day at Torchwood, though that wasn't what they'd known at the time. A day where they'd both started making preparations for the Doctor's plan. Rose had gone to her locker on her lunch break, getting the gear she usually used on field missions and putting it in an anonymous black duffel, hoping no one saw and asked uncomfortable questions. Questions like "Why?" Or "What are you doing?" She hadn't even seen the Doctor in person since leaving the lifts this morning, but she'd gotten a couple texts on her mobile from him in the last few hours. How he'd managed that one, where he'd refused to carry a phone, she didn't know, but that was just typical. Who knew what he had in those pockets of his, or what he'd managed to cobble together or nick in the last four days. Some things didn't bear thinking too much about. Not if she wanted get anything done. She would wonder about his secrecy and kleptomania another time, when things weren't looking so dire. 

Rose wasn't sure if it was the conversation from the night before that was wearing on her mind, or just her own experience in the field, but she could feel the tension in the air from the moment she'd gone through the security check this morning. Maybe it was just the Doctor's sense of urgency, but the feeling of impending doom was in the air. Even Jake and Owen had to have been feeling it, because both were snarking at each other, irritability seeming to be the mood for the day with everyone. The only ones who were acting anything like normal were Sally and Robinson; though even Robinson seemed a little more relaxed than normal. Affable, almost. That in itself seemed to be the validation for the Doctor's worries. But in the cold light of day, outside of Torchwood, it was almost easy to dismiss those worries. The sun was shining; the zeppelins still floated by overhead, most flashing their gaudy advertisements and banners; and all seemed right with the world. Too normal for ancient beings from another time to be running amok. All too normal, except for her own feelings of foreboding. 

She'd almost broke down and pulled her team aside to tell them what was up, what was possibly going down in the coming days, but she didn't. She wasn't sure how far anything had gone, how much was real or was just the product of the metacrisis affecting him. If he'd finally gone off his trolley, or something worse. Not that she didn't believe him, but was it so wrong to hope he was merely going mental? That this was all just paranoia or an elaborate means to get out of working for Torchwood or him going spare from the boredom? One could always hope, since in some ways that would be preferable to what he'd said was coming. 

Either way, here she was. Feeling the rush, gathering the heavy armored vest and black fatigues she usually wore on missions, checking the mini blaster over for damage, putting it in its holster and layering it all in the canvas bag. A wool cap to hide the brightness of her hair was added, along with a handful of energy bars. A bottle of orange Vitex was added after, with a few other things. She'd leaned on her hard earned experience to push her anxiety and misgivings aside. Forewarned was forearmed, and even if this didn't amount to anything, it was a good exercise in preparedness. Even if this ended up with him in the lunatic ward or in prison, at least she'd gotten ready for any eventuality.

 

 

 

The Doctor had summoned his courage, taking the stairs to get up to a certain floor. The one with that room. The one that was the twin to the one that had broken his heart and nearly destroyed his will to go on. He'd managed it, and avoided being seen in the process. _No one does sneaky like a Time Lord,_ he'd thought with smug satisfaction. _No matter who was watching the security footage or who they were working for, they'd not be noticing anything amiss. Merely some camera footage whose time stamp didn't match. First in jiggery pokery, hadn't he said? As if that system would stop even a Time Tot just out of their cradle, much less him._

Really, he was between a rock and a hard place. He'd dared stretch his awareness enough to peek at the timelines in the lonely dark of the night before, finally testing those abilities that had faded with the departure of the TARDIS and his other self from the beach. He'd gotten little for his troubles other than a splitting headache that, even now, was beating a tattoo inside his skull to match his single heartbeat. That, and an impression of his plans inevitably going slightly off the rails. Nothing explicit, just enough to know he was going to have to make a hard decision at some point and likely soon. A moment would shine clear, almost like another Moment his psyche still tried steering clear of, where he'd have to defy the fragile shell of decency he covered himself in and he'd once more have to take up the mantle of the cold blooded soldier. Take on the aspect of his persona that he despised and hated. It was going to tear him to pieces, but it was the only way. Rose may never forgive him for seeing the man behind the mask. The man he'd tried to abandon to his nightmares, the one who'd never deserved the love of anyone, much less his brilliant, fantastic Rose. But to save the world and her, he'd have to. He could save the world and forever lose her love, but if it was the only way to keep her and everyone else alive, so be it. Even if it was the way his world and all that was good in it ended, even if he went out with a whimper instead of going softly into that good night, he'd do it to for her. 

Here he was, rifling through the scattered equipment around the Dimension Cannon, eye on the door and ever watchful for discovery, hoping to find the last bit he'd need for the modified Vortex Manipulator he'd cobbled together. Bits and pieces from a Dimension Hopper, scraps from a transmat, all to rig a wrist mounted teleport that would've set Captain Jack to railing against the hypocrisy. Nothing fancy, no jumping through time, but it'd be enough to get them out of a sticky situation when the time came. It'd be rough, downright brutal, but it would work, push come to shove. And there was going to be a lot of shoving going on. No going with the flow and laying down arms was going to save them. Throwing up the white flag would've been nicer; acting meek and mild, if a bit lippy, while figuring a way to escape and outsmart the bad guys was his normal modus operandi. That would only serve to put them squarely in the Old Ones' trap and get Rose and her family killed, if not enslaved with the rest of humanity if he tried that, however.

Just taking it on the run by himself still seemed the better plan, the safest way to keep them out of the danger zone, but that wasn't an option. Time to try with the whole teamwork idea, and pray it all didn't go totally balls up. As for the insights from the murky timelines, he could always hope, right? 

And there, the final bit he needed. One transporter easily concealed under his sleeve, ready to go, even if it was a bit crude. Hmm, unfortunate, that. Of all the times to not have anti-sick pills on hand. They were probably gonna need them. Might do to have some paracetamol in the pocket for Rose, at least. Not like they'd help him much. Time for an elaborate game of cat and mouse, if they could ever figure out who the mouse was. It certainly wasn't him. They'd picked the wrong Time Lord to mess with, and they'd soon find that out. 

Where'd that banana in his pocket gone to? That'd come in handy in a bit. He'd missed another opportunity to sample the travesty they called food here again, too busy getting these last parts. Now to fire off a message off with the all clear to Rose. Gotta love that unattended mobile he'd snatched from the Mail Room. He'd left an apology note, then modified the phone to piggyback off the network while still being untraceable. Wouldn't do to leave breadcrumbs for them to follow, would it now? And the three hundred quid he'd left in the note ought to make up for Lewis's inconvenience. If not, well, he'd make it up to him someday. 

 

 

 

Robinson was reading through the last of the day's accounts and reports, double checking for errors and omissions before he'd submit them to the Records Department. His mobile ringing startled him from his contented feeling of a job well done and nearly completed for the day. Checking the readout and finding the caller as anonymous he answered brusquely. "Who is this?"

"You know who it is," came the voice he immediately recognized as Agent Ferguson, who was sounding a bit strange. It almost sounded like his voice was being used by someone else who was unfamiliar with having vocal cords.

 _Must be the connection_ , he thought as he closed his office door after glancing around for signs of anyone still on duty to overhear him. Seeing no one, he was relieved, returning to his chair and answering in a low voice, "How'd you get this number?"

"Need to know only," came the terse reply. "Check the archived security footage from half one this afternoon, floor twenty seven."

Sighing, he logged into the system with his password, clicking through various directories until he'd patched into the right set of logs. He queued up the black and white footage and speed up the playback until the timestamps were around the right timeframe mentioned. 

There was one five second clip, showing a tall, thin man with anxiety written on his face, coming out of the north stairwell. The man then paused to look around, before aiming something at the camera. After that, the footage looped for twenty minutes, showing the entire floor as empty. Speeding up the film again, he nearly missed it at the end, when the clock's readout in the corner resumed its count. Another clip, ten seconds long, of that same man, face calm and relaxed this time, looking directly into the camera's lens. The figure stood there, directly in the view of the camera and staring it down arrogantly, as if daring anyone to stop him. Eyes that were eternally dark, seemed way too old for the normally youthful features that now seemed ageless. As sudden as lightning, a broad grin, full of charm crossed the man's face and he mouthed something before going through the door to the stairwell. Something that looked suspiciously like something in French. 

"What the hell is he up to?" Robinson growled, suddenly ready to call up a team of his own to go interrogate the man in the footage. 

"Good question," Ferguson said sardonically. "It's one I'll try to remember to ask after we've brought him in."

"You mean..." Robinson asked, suddenly regretting his outburst. Surely they could ignore this incident, since it really wasn't that significant. The man did have the clearance to be in the vicinity of the Dimension Cannon, even if his behavior was somewhat unorthodox. Not that anything he did was orthodox in the first place. His reports still gave him a headache, even if he passed them on since it was hopeless of getting a proper one. 

"It's a go. Boots will be on the ground before morning. We hope to take him unawares, even if he already knows something is afoot. He's smarter than the source gave him credit for. We'll not misjudge him again."

"You're opening Pandora's box, that's what you are. There's no good to come of this, if I may express my opinion on the matter," Robinson cautioned, feeling a twinge from his stomach. Of all the damnable times to develop indigestion. He'd be getting another ulcer out of this at the very least. 

"On the contrary," Ferguson replied, unaware of the distress he was causing. Not that he would've cared if he had known. "We're moving ahead with the operation, getting a jump on him before he can flee the area. At least we know his location and can catch him before he disappears into thin air."

"I want no part of this, " Robinson choked out, feeling the acid beginning to burn inside. "There will be hell to pay from this, and I've not got the resources to spare."

"We are very pleased with your compliance. You will receive you due reward," the voice on the other end of the line said, no longer even resembling the MI5 agent. It sounded completely otherworldly and echoed in a way that made his heart clench in fear. What the hell had he gotten himself into? Forget Delilah's ever increasing demands on alimony payments. This was deep shit, here. Really deep shit and there'd be no end of shoveling out of this mess.

 

 

 

 

"Rose."

An insistent voice stirred her to wakefulness, repeating her name until she blearily responded. "What is it?"

"Come on. Get your kit on, they're coming," came the hoarse whispered response. He was frenetic action in the shadows, urgency in the glimpses of movement. 

She opened her eyes immediately, seeing his face as a pale splotch in the darkness of her room. He was leaning over her, already dressed with the satchel over his shoulder. She pushed him out of the way and quickly reached for her shoes and jacket, glad she'd taken his advice and gone to bed in her fatigues. Hearing the sound of someone pounding on the door downstairs and faintly hearing Mabel protesting the intrusion, she hurried faster. 

The Doctor was already by the door, body tense as he listened to Pete asking what the hell was the meaning of this, and Jackie loudly yelling about the cheek of people who went banging on people's doors at half past midnight. Above all, the sound of heavy footsteps below and harsh unfamiliar voices rang out. They'd brought in the cavalry from the sounds of it. Getting out of this was going to be a sticky wicket, but he liked difficult. Almost as good as impossible, it was.

He looked back to Rose, still putting on her trainers and not moving nearly as fast the situation warranted. "Come on," he hissed, fear adding unintentional harshness to his tone. 

"I am," Rose hissed back. "Sorry if I'm not going fast enough, but my laces are tangled."

"Bugger the laces, there's no time," he snapped, hearing boots on the stairs as he turned and pulled Rose to her feet, cursing the necessary haste in his actions. He could beg for forgiveness later, when men with guns weren't coming for them, disturbing her family from their sleep. _Damned louts, forcing them to this._

"Doc.." she started to protest against his roughness as he pulled her against him, even as the bedroom door slammed open. They automatically raised their hands, trying to protect their eyes against the glare.

Six men in riot gear, visors and all of them with guns in their hands poured into the room, nearly blinding them with the torches mounted on the ends of their rifles. They fanned out, covering them from all angles, one holding up a hand to halt their advance. "Subject apprehended, sir. Obviously planning to flee the scene," the man grated into his intercom. There was an indistinct reply, to which the man replied, "Yes, sir. Got him covered."

Squinting against the glare, the Doctor cautiously made to pull Rose behind him, away from the gun muzzles, causing the men in front of them to cock their guns, clicking off their safeties. "Hold on, who are you lot?" the Doctor protested, trying for a jovial response, trying to calm the tensions in the room. He gave them a wide grin, trying for charm. "I'm the..."

His words were cut off when another man strode into the room, incongruous in a suit and dark glasses, the commandos parting to allow him through. "Silence, Time Lord. I'm Agent Ferguson and we've come to take you in," the man said, mouth moving, but the voice was a disembodied echo.

 _Oh ye gods and little fishes_ , the Doctor thought, knowing his worst fears realized when he felt the entity clothed in human form approaching. He steeled himself against the sudden psychic barrage the being launched, attempting to spread its influence. It was trying to spread itself into the others. _Whoever you were once were, he thought, I'm sorry. You're long dead, even if you're still breathing._ He cast a look towards Rose, silently begging forgiveness as the being gave them a tight smile, thinking it had won. It foolishly thought they were trapped. Seeing Rose looking at him with trust in her eyes, knowing he'd get them out of this somehow. Cursing that they'd forced him to fall back into this thinking. Made him once more who he could not, must not, but had to be. 

"We have you now, Time Lord. No escaping this one," came the satisfied monotone. "Come quietly and we'll spare your companions' lives and save them from having to watch your death."

Readying himself for action, he calmly drawled, "Well, I dunno about that. I rather like being alive, you know. Always got a back up plan. Good little boy scout, that's me, prepared." He gave them an innocent little smile, watching the commandos starting to relax. _Mustn't be all that experienced, thinking he was going to go quietly. With our shields or on them, all hail Sparta._

"You will come quietly, or else."

"I will not," came the Doctor's amused reply, a chortle escaping his lips at their audacity. _As if he'd ever done as he was told. Who'd they think he was? Centuries of defying orders, that's me._

Rose was running through the possible ways to diffuse this, trying and failing to find a solution that didn't end with them dying in a hail of bullets. Even her own experience with Torchwood wasn't going to help, with those guns trained on them like that. She'd expected the Doctor to be able to talk his way out of the situation, when suddenly he was pulling her in front of him. An arm like a steel band went around her shoulders, grasping her tightly to his chest, that right hand gripping hard at her left shoulder. That hand that was significantly cooler in temperature than the body pressed to hers, holding her close. Before she could even think of a protest, she felt him hold something against her head. How the hell had he gotten ahold of her mini blaster when she'd not even managed to get ahold of it? What the hell was he doing? The Doctor didn't like guns, or was that just the proper Doctor?

Seeing the sudden burst of movement the gunmen raised their weapons, only to lower them again, putting the safeties back on when the subject grabbed the Vitex heiress and held a gun to her head. Their squad leader looked to Agent Ferguson for guidance. They'd been assigned to be backup for this operation, but shooting the daughter of one of Britain's richest men was not in their playbook. 

"You wouldn't dare," came the smug reply. 

"Oh, try me," came the hoarse response from over her shoulder. She said feel his heart thudding against her back, the arm across her chest getting tighter, starting to hurt. "You can't even imagine the things I'd dare. Ooh, and here we are in a Mexican standoff, and me from a lot further away than that. Though gotta love the burritos, they're fantastic. Brilliant, even. You should try them. Really, you should and while you're at it, bugger off, too. Leave us in peace before I'm forced to do something we'll all regret. Don't make me pull this trigger. Don't think I won't. I destroyed my own planet, this barely even counts against that." His voice was steely, hard, the barest hint of a Northerner's accent creeping in. "Don't think I don't know what you are. You're one of the Elder Gods, one of the Old Ones returned to cry havoc and let loose the dogs of war. Me, I would've tried somewhere else. Different planet, even. Because this one's defended and I'm doing anything you say. You're not the boss of me, you little shits."

He stared them down, gauging the commandos' reactions against the blankness of Ferguson's face, the entity that used to be an MI5 agent; seeing the nod that passed between them and the gun barrels rising once more, a decision made on the killing. Taunting probably wasn't the best tactic, but he'd seen no point in delaying the inevitable. Also, the gob had always served to distract the enemy. No sense in abandoning the tried and true methods. He'd had a lot of fantasies of having Rose in his arms, all of them involving fewer clothes and none ever involving being held at gunpoint. Always just his luck. He'd even been in her room, watching her sleep waiting for fate to intercede once more. It was more than he'd hoped for, and now if this damned headache would just ease up....

"You will find she's too small to be an effective shield," came the amused reply, the inflection falling flat upon their ears. "Fire."

Rose began to panic at the Doctor's words, hearing the harsh determination in his tone. He'd destroyed his own planet, what was she in comparison to that fell deed? Bloody hell, had the proper Doctor left her with this effing mad man? A mad man who was pulling her against his chest even harder, wrenching her shoulder as fear overtook years of training and experience. As terror overcame the trust she'd once had in the Doctor. She didn't like the glimpse of the man behind the alien she was seeing. 

Gritting his teeth, he was praying to deities he'd never once believed had existed. Believing in only Rose, he was hoping she'd forgive him for this necessary deception. That she'd know this was all an elaborate lie to save them. When the guns rose and the safeties clicked off again, cocked and ready to fire, he reached for the last of his mental focus, ignoring the pain that burned in his skull. Suspending the flow of time, even as the triggers were pulled and the bullets sped towards them, moving far slower to their perception than the reality, he gave a hard jerk with his right arm. The movement depressed the controls on the teleport unit on his wrist and he was giving a defiant farewell as everything disappeared around them.

 

 

 

Pete broke past the cordon of police officers to run into Rose's room just as the gunshots rang out, blinded by the sudden flash of light that filled half the room at the same time. He was dimly aware of someone shouting "Allons-y!" in a cheery voice when the room went dark. The SOCA officers and Ferguson alike were stumbling around in the dark. The torches' bulbs burnt out, the light bulb overhead exploded as confusion ruled. The one thing that stuck in his mind was the brief sight of his not quite daughter wrapped in the Doctor's arms with a gun held against her temple. But no bodies, no blood. He could be grateful for that. If this was still according to the plan, that is. Not knowing how much was real and how much was the Doctor's deception, he let loose his temper on Ferguson once they'd managed to get out of the room. The hallway was uncomfortably crowded and he could hear Jackie blustering her way through the officers. She'd be giving them all hell for this. Especially when she found out it was all a hoax. So he hoped. 

"What the bloody hell just happened in there? What the hell do you think you're doing?" he grated, barely restraining the urge to punch that Ferguson chap standing there with his face all calm and smug. 

"You were unaware of the dangerous man you've been harboring under your roof for almost a fortnight?" came the bored, emotionless response. Ferguson merely stood there, calmly ignoring the fact he was pushing his limits. Daring his personal safety, he was. At least he would be, once his wife got over here.

"What?" he'd protested as Jackie came up, quickly assessing the situation and addressing the biggest issue to her eyes. 

"Where the hell is my daughter? What the hell have you done with my Rose, you bastards? Where's the Doctor? Where's he in all this?" she demanded, trying to push past Pete to see for herself. 

He barely held her back, as Ferguson said in a flat tone, "You'll have to ask the Doctor that. Or rather we will once we capture him, since he's the one who took her with a gun held to her head. This is a hostage situation now, ma'am."

"What?" she sputtered, incredulous. She turned to her husband, looking for truth. "Pete?"

He nodded wearily, making a grimace of dismay. He couldn't deny what he'd seen, not knowing exactly how it had progressed to that point. He cursed the lost time he'd spent pushing past the officers who'd tried holding him back, ignoring his demands to be let through since he was the director of Torchwood and this was his damned house. He needed Jackie's dramatic reaction to sell this whole thing. 

The Doctor had said they'd get no mercy if it was even suspected they'd known of his escape plan. Said this was the only way he could protect them all, even if it seemed harsh in the actuality. Taking Rose at gunpoint hadn't been a part of the original plan. It was supposed to been neater then this, no weapons, no armed police. Just the pair of them slipping away, while he raised the alarm after they'd had a head start. 

"That skinny little bastard. I'll string him up for this. He's been under our roof, eating our food, wearing the clothes we bought him and this is how he repays us? Should've known it would come to this from the moment I saw him. Waltzing into my flat, just as smug as can be, like he owned the place," Jackie spat, glaring. "You can put a bullet in him for me once you get my Rose back, and make sure you tell him where it came from."

Ferguson nodded, still aloof and almost nonchalant as he said, "Yes, Mrs. Tyler. Will do our very best."

It was morning before the last of them left, with muttered apologies to the damage to the furnishings and the mess all those boots had made. Apologies at disturbing the house at that hour did not come, but Pete hadn't expected that and Jackie was too upset still to care. He was just glad they were gone, the questions stopped and he could try explaining this one to Jackie.

He'd been told that Torchwood's own resources would be required and their surveillance would be gone over by MI5 itself. His field agents would be called in to assist with their having dealt with the Doctor over the last four days. He'd protested that the only one that would've known his habits and where he'd be likely to go was Rose herself. Truth always made the lie more believable. 

Once they were gone, the gray light of dawn was creeping into their awareness as the rain started. Appropriate weather, Peter thought bitterly, hoping the Doctor and Rose had found shelter in this mess. The last thing they needed was getting soaked and catching their death from colds. He hadn't missed that last look Ferguson had given him, when he'd reached up to lower those dark glasses. He'd suddenly seen eyes that glowed with an unearthly light. That was all Pete needed for final proof. As odd as it seemed, there was something truly alien mixed up in all this besides the Doctor. Something far less benevolent and far more dangerous than he was, and far beyond anything in Torchwood's experience. 

Jake, Owen and Sally showed up shortly after 6 in the morning, with Lane and Jason from Comms bringing up the rear. Jackie was standing by the window when they came in, too disconsolate to even turn around at their entrance. They were all in a state this morning. And no wonder, with all that had gone on. Sleep would be a welcome thing, if that was even possible, not with all that they'd be having to do. There was much to be done in the days ahead.

"What the fuck happened?" Jake asked, totally disregarding Tony's presence with his coarse language. The little boy had fallen asleep on the sofa, worn out from the excitement. Hopefully he'd sleep a bit longer. They could comfort him better after these events and try explaining as best as he'd be able to understand. Some things weren't meant to have to be explained to children that age. At least he hadn't seen the whole thing. That was one thing to be grateful for in all this mess.

Pete glared, saying, "Spare some consideration for my little boy's ears, there's some things a four year old doesn't need to be hearing. He's been through enough as it is," all the while holding up a piece of A4 with the words 'Scan for bugs' written on it. 

Nodding and muttering, "Sorry, sir, won't happen again. Don't know what I was thinking, must be the shock of it all," Jake and the rest quickly fanned out. They scanned thoroughly for hidden listening devices in Pete's office. After they found none in the room, Pete finally relaxed. He motioned for Lane to close the door. He then looked to his wife who was standing next to the window. Her arms were crossed, still in a state of smoldering fury.

"Come on, Jacks, you've got to hear this."

"I want him dead," she said in a hollow voice, too wrung out from emotion to say any more than that. 

"Don't, be like that, love. It's not what you think," Pete replied, trying to soothe her, wanting her to listen to what would probably make her angry for a totally different reason. 

"You mean he didn't just put a gun to my little girl's precious head, after all she'd done to get back to him and all he's said he loves her? I can just imagine," she retorted, finally turning to fix her angry look on her husband. "Played us all for fools, he did. Should've known when the proper Doctor said he was dangerous and all. And here I was, thinking that all he needed was some cheering up."

"Jacks," Pete said in a determined tone, "you'd best sit down for this." He'd rather she was sitting so he had a chance to prepare for when she launched herself at him. She wasn't going to be happy about this farce. "He isn't any different than he was before. This whole plan was all a ruse. A diversion to get that Ferguson away from us. There's some kind of alien entity taking over people that they're trying to distract before they take over the planet."

"What? And he still did this to my Rose?" Jackie sputtered, not backing down from her anger. "He could've at least left her out of it."

"He wanted to Jacks, believe me. If he'd had no other choice, do you think it would've gone like this? He wanted to leave her here, safe, but she wouldn't have it. You know her, she wouldn't have let him go do this on his own. No matter how much he wanted her away from this," Pete said in a resigned voice, feeling all those hours of lost sleep suddenly.

Jake and the other Torchwood agents relaxed at that, though Jackie bridled even more. She did remain silent, listening for once, but Pete could see her thinking the whole thing over, letting the facts settle in.

"Business as usual, then, Boss?" Jake said with a slight chuckle at the sudden release of tension. "Could've atleast told the rest of us. Gerry is out with a team, hunting them down with orders to treat the Doctor with extreme prejudice. Might want to call them off, before someone gets killed."

That was something he really, really wished he could do. Really regretting the need to keep this whole charade going. Even if he had no doubts about how fast Ferguson would turn on them if they didn't keep up appearances. "I can't," he said heavily. "We've got to act like he really did take Rose against her will, that he's truly a threat to her, and follow through with the orders from above."

"But sir, that's..." Sally began to protest, even as Jake was getting ready to do the same. 

"You don't think I know that!" Pete shouted, angry at how his own hands were tied. "We've got no choice. It's out of our hands and you lot are the only ones I can trust. Someone in Torchwood's on their side. MI5 and the Serious Organized Crime Agency are tied up in this. I don't know how far this goes, or who's authorized this." 

"Bloody hell," Jason and Owen muttered in near unison, voices hushed in awe at the implications. 

"That's my little girl out there," Jackie whispered, closing her eyes against the horror of it all. "That's my daughter they're hunting down."

"Jacks," Pete said in a softer tone. "I know. He'll keep her safe, I know he will. As if anyone could ever outsmart that crafty little git. It's why I called Rose's team in. They're going to run interference. Keep an eye out for those two, and protect them if they have to. But we've got to act like we're out for his blood as well, so they don't come after us. The Doctor said it was the only way to keep us all from being targets."

"Get them to think Rose is his victim, rather than an accomplice. Makes sense," Sally said, surprised at the cleverness to the plan. "Keep them focused on what he'd do, where he'd go, instead of Rose's likely behavior. Canny little bugger."

"Don't let that whole acting like a babbling idiot act fool you. He's smarter than anyone you'll ever meet. I've seen him take on worse than this, while cracking jokes the whole time. Rose does it, as well," Jake continued thoughtfully, "Though, this isn't how he usually does things. It's all wrong. Something must've happened to put him up to this."

Everyone nodded grimly, wondering what exactly had come to pass during that showdown upstairs just after midnight. There'd be a lot of filling in the Doctor and Rose would be doing after this was all settled. A lot of unanswered questions while they were still figuring out what to even ask when the time came.


	15. Chapter 15

15

Am I wrong? Have I gone to far to get home....

They landed in a tangle of limbs. The Doctor managed to take most of the impact, sparing Rose from the worst of it. Both of them were groaning and trying to sort themselves out. What saved them from any real injury, other than to their hygiene, was the rubbish tip. Of all the places, the Doctor thought blearily. And it's got to be the only one within miles that hasn't been picked up in the last month... 

"What the hell was that?" Rose demanded, choosing to ignore where they'd landed. First things first. 

"Modified Vortex Manipulator. Blimey, that was a rough one. Last time I try transport on the cheap. Service was fast, but the ride was absolutely awful," the Doctor managed after a moment, still testing for function. The headache, if anything was worse and he'd been unable to string two thoughts together. 

Rose quickly remembered what had brought them here and quickly scrambled away, climbing out of the bin with alacrity. She'd grabbed her mini blaster first, taking advantage of his disorientation to get out of reach. She shouldered the satchel next, thinking it'd have something useful in it, like a phone to call in for transport and pick up. She wasted no time putting it back in the holster, even as he was climbing out after her. Didn't want him getting any more ideas with that blaster again. 

He almost fell as he called her name, long limbs tangling. "Rose? I didn't..."

"What the hell was that, and where the hell are we? What were you thinking?" she snapped, backing away from him, putting a hand to feel behind her. They were in an alley somewhere. Hopefully in London and hopefully in the same year, she thought sourly. 

Focusing on the question he had the best chance of answering correctly, he pulled himself straight while smiling in a what he hoped was a harmless way. Right, this wasn't looking good, and there was a distinct hint of pear-shapedness to the whole thing. Yup, she was angry. Very angry. Furious, even, and hadn't he bolloxed this one up? How to explain... 

"What the hell were you even thinking?" Rose snapped. "It's like I don't even know you. God, what was I even thinking," she said, pushing her hair behind her ear with frustration. She was covered in stink from that rubbish tip and that was the least of her concerns at the moment. 

"I'm sorry, Rose. I'm so sorry, but I had no choice," he said pleadingly, holding his hands out in a gesture to show he was unarmed. "If I hadn't grabbed you like that, they would've killed us on the spot. I wouldn't have actually..."

"You held a gun to my head. You threatened to shoot me," she said tersely, enunciating every word. 

"Well, yeah, but that was the point. Fooling them, all a bit of misdirection," he explained, hoping she'd believe him. He was still seething in self hatred inside at what he'd done, still cringing at the memory of her fighting him in terror. He took a cautious step towards her, holding a hand out in supplication. "Rose..."

Suddenly, the gun was back up, a determined look in her eyes. "Stop right there. Don't come any closer. I'm warning you."

Holding his hands up, he made an impatient gesture of aggravation. "Oh for... Rose, put that thing down," he said, barely holding his annoyance in check. 

"No. You step back," she said flatly, voice firm.

"What? You wouldn't shoot me, would you? Rose?" he said in a tone of disbelief that would have been comical in a different situation. Daring to step forward another step. 

"I said, don't move. You move again and you'll be sorry. I don't know who you are, but you sure as hell aren't the Doctor," she said warningly. 

His face tightened at that, the last remnants of amused disbelief dropping entirely. His eyes were suddenly dark, seeming to burn and she knew that look from the proper Doctor. The Oncoming Storm. Just because she'd seen others turn and run from that look, didn't mean she was going to back down. He'd threatened her life, used her as a human shield...

"Fine, then. Shoot me, Rose," he said in a low, husky voice. The anger was evident. "Go on, do it. Pull the trigger. I'm not going to stop you." 

"No. I'm taking you in. There's places for people like you," she said calmly, wishing she'd thought to grab her mobile. "Torchwood will keep you safe. Keep you from pulling anything like this again."

He snorted in disgust. "Then kill me now. Save me from the ones who'll be coming for me. They're the same ones who'll be running this whole dog and pony show within five years," he snapped, stepping forward. When his chest was pressed against the muzzle of the blaster, he spoke again, tone soft and gentle, "Don't tell me you didn't feel it, back in that room. Don't tell me you don't know there's a whole lot more going on. That this is bigger than you and me." He paused, suddenly smirking, eyes lighting with mirth. "Don't think that blaster actually works, either."

She jumped back, disbelief written on her face. "What? You..."

"Yup," he said grinning, popping the 'p'. "Disabled it while you were sleeping. Didn't think I'd actually use a real gun, do you? Who the hell do you think I am, Dirty Harry? Come on, Rose, I'm the Doctor. Guns turn people into killers, I just turned them into buffoons."

"You held off an entire police riot squad with a broken gun? Are you completely mad?" she said, torn between yelling at him for his stupidity or laughing at his audacity. 

"Oh, yes. Would've done it with a banana, but couldn't get the shimmer to work, since it's a fruit, not a Vinvocci. That would've been one for the books. The man who held up London's finest with a banana," he said, grinning and hoping to get her to smile. 

"You... you ruined it! What if we actually need my blaster? We don't exactly have the TARDIS to get away in, and even you can't outrun the armored vans they'll have when they come after us," she scolded. 

"Shows what you know," he said in a superior tone. "I've got this" - pulling the sonic screwdriver from one pocket- "and this," he said proudly, pulling out the TARDIS coral. "Now, we'll just find us somewhere to lie low and I'll have us transportation within the next year. Possibly sooner, if I'm good. And I'm very good."

She rolled her eyes, "You think you're so impressive still."

"Oh, but I am. Surely you haven't forgotten that about me," he said, feeling a sudden wave of discomfort. The headache was getting more persistent, trying to tug his attention back to the building pressure. He quickly shoved the coral and the sonic in his pockets, forcing himself to act like nothing was happening. Like everything was just peachy.

"Fine, then," she sighed, holstering the now useless weapon. Maybe she could convince him to repair it later, if that wasn't impossible enough. "Now where'd you bring us to, you bloody lunatic?"

"Let's take a look, shall we?" he said cheerfully, pretending not to notice Rose backing away. She'd get over this, eventually. There wasn't time, and it was starting to feel like he was trudging through treacle. Feet didn't want to work properly anymore. Wasn't this just wizard? 

"Ooh, still in the 21st century, from the look of things." He managed to make it out of the alley they were in, turning to look around carefully, trying not to stumble. "Probably the same year. Not that I expected any different with that shoddy piece of equipment. I told Jack they were absolute rubbish, I did."

A moment to look around, recognizing the suburban street he was standing in. The familiar cars, small yards, nearly identical detached and semidetached houses, all there. Just as he'd hoped. The last place the Old Ones' servants or the police under their influence would think to look. 

"Oh, thank you, Donna Noble. I know where we are. We're in...." he said in a tone of grateful wonder. He turned to Rose and gave her a broad, reassuring smile, just as the pounding in his head turned into a stabbing agony. It almost brought him to his knees. 

Seeing him go from acting normal and cheery to suddenly crying out in pain, Rose forgot her anger. "Doctor?" she called, cautiously approaching. "What's wrong? You taken ill or something?"

He was breathing heavily, but straightened, looking suddenly very scared. His eyes were unfocused and he was squinting against the dim light from the street lamps, as if even that much illumination was too much. 

"Sorry, I... Rassilon. I think... I think... This is like what happened to Donna..." he ground out between gasps for air. It was getting harder to focus, a blackness encroaching on the edges of his vision. 

She ran up to him, steadying him when he leaned forward to put a hand on her shoulder, almost falling. His sudden weight almost knocked her over. "What happened to Donna?" she asked in concern. Then noticing something more immediate and pressing, "Doctor, you're bleeding!" She gasped, staring at a trickle of blood on his upper lip. It was running from his nose in a slow trickle. 

"I am?" he said in surprise, running a hand over his face and looking down in confusion at the red smear there. "Hmm, so I am." A look of fear came over his face then as he wiped at it furiously before looking into her eyes. With the way he was leaning on her, their eyes were almost level. His pupils were almost fully dilated as he wheezed out, "If it's the last chance I have to say it, Rose Tyler. I love you."

Before she could blink, much less react, he was pressing a sloppy kiss to her lips. Surprise overwhelmed her, so when he pulled back she was unable to even think about it. Not that she had time, because he was suddenly collapsing against her bonelessly. Rose barely managed to catch him before he hit the tarmac, turning him enough so he landed in her arms as his weight bore them both down.

"For such a skinny man, you're damned heavy," she muttered under her breath as she automatically felt for a pulse. Cursing the layers he'd still not given up, since now he'd worn a wool jumper over that blue suit jacket, with a plain t-shirt underneath. "Couldn't make this easier, or do this somewhere else?" she chided him, relieved to find a steady heartbeat. Cradling his head, she looked around, hoping to see a street sign or anything for a clue as to where they'd ended up.

The street they were in was hauntingly familiar, though she couldn't place it at first. Wait, yeah. The other version of earth. She'd had a particle cannon and he'd been running to her and there'd been a Dalek.... Of course, she thought wryly. She affectionately brushed his fringe away from his forehead, smiling at the irony. "We're keeping you away from Chiswick after this, or at least this street. Doesn't matter which one, we keep ending up doing this whole thing. Me holding you, you half..."

What she'd almost said made her go silent for a moment. "Please, Doctor. Don't do this to me, not now," she said urgently, pleading while she started to shake him. "I'm sorry I said you weren't you. Just please, get up."

He stirred slightly, a faint glowing escaping his lips with a gasped breath as he slowly opened his eyes. "Hello," he said in a slurred voice.

"Hello," she whispered back, grinning in relief. "You were glowing. But... you said you'd never regenerate again." She gave him a look of confusion combined with concern.

"Last of the regeneration energy, left over from the metacrisis," he explained in a sluggish voice, grunting at another wave of pain as he struggled to sit up. His whole body felt like it was on fire, burning up. He could feel things shifting, briefly wondering if this was from that bloody Vortex Manipulator or if his other self had done something stupid that was effecting him....

"Is it another neural inversion, like that Christmas day?" she asked, quickly moving to help him. This was the wrong place, the wrong time. She didn't have any tea on hand. She'd have to carry some from now on, just in case.

"No, I..don't... need some sleep. So tired," he managed, slurring his words more and starting to sag against her again. "Think the jump set it off..."

"Doctor, you can't. We're... you're in the middle of the... We got to find some place safe, those things will be after us soon," she insisted, shaking him again. "You can't just pass out in the street."

This time she managed rouse him enough to get him to his feet, but he was barely walking on his own. Remembering when she'd done this before, she really wished they weren't alone. Wishing it wasn't the middle of the night with no one around to help. Of course he'd gotten them away from everything and everyone, including anyone who'd be able to assist. "Come on," she urged. "We got to keep moving. Find you somewhere you can rest, yeah?"

 

 

He was staggering like a drunk, which was what anyone would've taken him for. Just some sot being helped along home from the pub by his lady friend after a few too many. Not a partially alien fugitive and his accomplice that he hoped would forgive him enough to be so much more. "Blending in, how human is that," he muttered.

"Go along to get along," she agreed, just trying to keep him talking, to keep him conscious. "Wish you knew someone around here," she muttered, not expecting an answer since he seemed to be struggling more with each step. 

"Oh, but I do," he said, suddenly straightening and sounding almost normal again. He was almost fully upright and only wobbled slightly when he pointed at a house ahead. With a sudden burst of energy he sprinted ahead, leaving Rose to run after him.

"Whose house is this?" she asked, watching him come to a halt by the front steps. He seemed to have run out of confidence, along with the sudden strength. He was leaning heavily against the door frame, at a loss for what to do next. "I thought... oh, it wouldn't be. Alternate world, gingerbread houses and all that."

"Yeah?" she said softly, recognizing the house from before, when they'd been tracking anomalies in the timelines with the Dimension Cannon. "They're good people, like the ones I met when I was looking for you."

He looked at her, eyes full but not daring to hope. "As it should be," he said with a shaky smile, starting to fade again. "Gramps... I mean, Wilf – he's a good man. He'd always... can't go waking them at this hour." With a resigned sigh, he attempted to stand again, only to slide down against the wall.

Rose kept him from falling onto his side using her hip as she disregarded his earlier concern for the residents. No help for it now, she thought as she made her decision. Not with him passing out like this. We'll be getting picked up by the police soon, even if it's just for loitering after curfew. Pounding on the door, she hoped they'd forgive the intrusion at this late hour and possibly spare a cuppa. Maybe a bed or a sofa, as well, since he'd probably need more than tea. And she could feel the first drops on her neck. Of all the times for it to rain...

 

 

Less than hour later he was tucked up on Sylvia Noble's sofa, and Wilfred Mott was handing Rose a warm mug. They were both settled into chairs nearby, watching the Doctor sleep. Wilf was still in his dressing gown, but he'd been surprisingly gracious and helpful for someone wakened by two strangers in the middle of the night, one of them unconscious. "So what's got you two out on a night like this, or should I even ask?" Wilf asked mildly. 

Rose, swallowed her tea before answering, thinking on what to say. The Doctor had seemed ready to trust this alternate version of Donna's Gramps, so she figured she probably could too. Briefly grateful that Sylvia and Donna didn't appear to be home, or were the soundest sleepers in England, she replied. "We're being chased by some crazy James Bond wannabe and they're out to kill him," she said, taking the simplest route. She was too tired for more detail than that.

Wilf gave her a look of concerned disbelief. "You don't say?"

"Really, we're not nutters or anything like that. Don't even know why they want him dead, but they do. Broke into my family's home, even," she said softly, trying to convince him. Really, we're not mad. Just the people after us. "He was fine, then he just started to get sick and he..." Running out of words, she made a useless gesture and fell silent.

Wilf nodded grimly, looking sympathetic. "Well, whoever they are, they'll not find you here. Poor lad looks totally done in, and you do, too. You both can stop here as long as you need. Catch up on your rest and figure out we'll do from here," he said firmly, mind made up. They seemed like decent kids to him, out on their own with some weird spy thingy going on around them. 

Rose sagged with relief, finally letting herself feel her own exhaustion. She didn't even notice Wilf including himself in future making of plans. Not that she even had the wherewithal to protest. "If you don't mind, I'll bed down out here, keep watch on him. I don't want to leave him, not even for a minute," she said, leaning forward to push his hair out of his face.

At least he was breathing normally, and no more nose bleeds after that one in the street before he'd collapsed. He'd even woke up briefly when they'd put him on the sofa, murmuring her name before falling asleep again. They'd only been able to get his coat, the jumper, and the suit jacket off besides his shoes. He'd woken up again to help with that, wearily asking her not to dump the stuff out of his pockets and telling her not to worry, he was just going to sleep for a bit. They'd covered him in a light blanket and left him in the black fatigue trousers he'd worn and his t-shirt. 

She'd barely noticed that he'd worn something besides suit trousers or jimjams earlier. It was weird seeing him in the denim trousers with all the pockets so unlike what he'd always worn. Things change, people change too.


	16. Chapter 16

16

Even these bloody human emotions echo...... 

He's swimming through a sea of utter darkness, no sense of up nor down. There is no up, no down, and possibly never will be again. But wait... there, in the distance. A song without words. A cry without voice. A noise without sound, and it's like coming home. Flailing, he uses what strength he can muster to draw near, even as something's pulling him back. A promise given that he intends to keep. A dream he dares to dream. Then there's clarity. Something's invaded his mind, stolen his voice, and is trying to force him from his own body. People, simple humans are panicking, threatening to cast him into the unending darkness. A darkness that the being inside knows too well, for it's spent aeons alone in the dark. And the darkness is so very, very close...

The Doctor awakened in a sweat, gasping awake and finding himself on a slightly familiar sofa, in a lounge that's also familiar, but he knew he'd never been here before. A moment to sort things out. Right, limbs intact. Arms, legs, hair – yup, he was still him. Hearts, no heart. Just the one. So, got that sorted, still that me. Now to test strength and balance – oops, still a bit wobbly, without the timey-whimey bits. Feels like I had a bad round with the hypervodka, without any of the fun associated with it, he thought as he untangled himself from the blanket. Picking himself up out of the ungainly heap he'd landed in, he looked around, blinking in surprise when he realized he knew what time it was. _Yup, 4:38 and 22 seconds ante meridian. Blimey, could do with another hour's sleep atleast. Sleep. How weird, me wanting to sleep. Bad timing, too. All sorts of baddies out there looking for us. That's at least back, and I didn't have to strain to find out the time. That's good. Very good. Possible life saver, it is. After I catch a few winks, it'll be even better._

He looked down to find Rose was curled up next to the sofa on the floor. A small smile crept over his face, and he felt ashamed that he'd caused so much trouble for her. _She'd be safer at home, snug in her own bed, instead of holding vigil over the likes of me,_ he thought as he bent down and carefully lifted her to put her where he'd been lying. Someone had put a blanket over her – probably Wilf, he thought as he tucked it around her more securely. He located his discarded coat, not remembering taking it off. Rose must've tried making him more comfortable. _My precious girl,_ he thought, feeling a wave of tenderness. He tucked his own blanket around himself and curled up on the floor, using his coat for a pillow. She'd be more comfortable there and he could've slept on a rock, he was that tired. Amazing they even got the wheel invented. How'd they had found the time with all this bloody dozing off, he hadn't the least idea. Humans, fitting so much into such short lives and half of that time wasted to start with. 

The gentle sound of rain against the window panes lulled him back to sleep. They'd gotten to shelter just in time. Couldn't be having Rose out in this weather, could he? Who knew, for that matter, what the effect of exposure like that would have on his own physiology. He'd might actually have a wildly inefficient immune system, like one of these 21st century humans. Of all horrors, he might've ended up with pneumonia and been forced to hazard the dodgy pharmaceutical industry's products. If they'd even work on him, that was.

 

 

 

Wilf was up at 6, his usual hour. He was surprised to find the two proclaimed fugitives still in his lounge, wrapped in two of the spare blankets from the storage chest. As strange as the story that girl had told him was, and that lad with her being so odd, he'd almost expected to find them gone. Vanished like he'd expect a figment of his imagination. All a dream. Had to be. That girl, she looked familiar. He'd seen her somewhere before. Perhaps she was someone famous. Nah, can't be. Just looks like one of them people on the telly, or someone he'd seen in the paper. He'd have to ask Sylvia or Donna when they'd got back from Brighton this morning. If those two weren't already gone. That'd be his Donna's luck, missing the chance to meet that pair. But the story he could tell. They'd never believe it, not at all.

As for that young man with her, he was a strange one, he was. Looked perfectly ordinary, until he'd briefly woken up when they were trying to pull that jumper off him. Then he'd looked at him, making his heart stop in the wonder of it. Eyes so impossibly ancient in such a young face, under one of those daft modern hair styles that young people these days went about with. Going on in the world, looking like they've just fallen out of bed and haven't discovered what a comb was for, as if looking like you've been dragged backwards through a hedgerow was something to aspire to. Young people these days – who could even begin to understand them?

How strange the whole thing got after, him just drifting off like that afterwards, and that weird glowing thingy he was doing. Wasn't natural, it weren't. How thrilling! A mystery. He'd not had that much excitement in years. Sylvia forbade it. Said too much excitement – like food that wasn't bland and boring – wasn't good for him at his age. As if a little bit of a mystery would do any harm? Give him something to live for, it would. Something to wonder about, at least. Now he had a two part mystery in his own livingroom. A mystery that'd probably be needing a decent breakfast in due time. Until then, he'd make a spot of tea. Do it quietly, because it wouldn't do to wake them, it wouldn't. A true gentleman, that lad was, at least, giving up his spot on the sofa for the girl. He'd his manners. 

He'd just got himself comfortably seated in the kitchen when he heard a noise from over the countertop that divided the area. Wilf looked up in time to see that young man pop up from the floor, like he'd heard a shot from a starter's gun. 

Their eyes met over the divider.

"Oh, you're up," Wilf said when the silence seemed to stretch. He felt a little uncomfortable, with the way that young fellow was staring. "Hope I didn't wake you. You seemed like you could use a decent kip. Feeling better?"

"Gra-" the Doctor started, quickly correcting himself, giving the old man a broad grin. "Wilfred Mott, as I live and breathe." 

"Oh? Do I know you then?" Wilf asked, surprised. He didn't remember introducing himself while the young chap was awake in the middle of the night before. 

"Oh, right. Good sense of hearing, me. Never met you in my life. Hello, I'm the Doctor." _Well, that wasn't exactly a lie, was it? Right. Forgot I shouldn't have known him for a minute there. Great, he'll be onto that little slip. Doesn't miss anything, either. Never could fool him, not once._ The Doctor tried another smile, still in a state of wonder at seeing such a familiar face. He quickly turned his expression to one more of gratitude. 

"Where's my manners," Wilf said, standing. "Would you like a cup of tea to wake you up?"

A full blown smile bloomed then. A relief that was, an obvious welcome with hospitality, beyond their imposing in the middle of the night like they had. "That'd be wonderful. Here let me give you a hand. Sit, sit. No need of you waiting on me... Wilf." _Damn, almost slipped again,_ he thought as he set about getting a mug from the cupboard and grabbing the teabags from the sideboard. 

Wilf watched him with raised eyebrows. The lad, whoever he was, seemed awfully familiar with the layout of his kitchen. "Hang on, you sure I don't know you?"

"What? Oh no, certainly not. Just met you last night, my dear man. My sincerest gratitude at giving us shelter. The milk of human kindness, you are," the Doctor managed while pouring water from the kettle into his cup. _How to keep him from getting suspicious..._ He had the cup half full when Wilf said in an amused voice, "That may be, but how's good hearing get you to knowing where everything is?"

A moment of panic set in. _Oh bugger, I really bolloxed that one. Old and thick. Who needs the gob to get me into trouble, when the rest of me blithely finds it. He's got me there. Forgot I shouldn't know this place like it's home. Which it's not, just a parallel version seems like it should be home, though. And everything's so similar..._ He tried an innocent look. "Um, doesn't everyone keep their galley like so? Cups there, silverware in that drawer, tea towels in the other, pots on the shelf next to the Aga?" 

"Well, you know where everything is, I'll give you that," Wilf said gruffly, a twinkle in his eye. This mystery was getting more exciting. He ignored the naval terminology for a kitchen. Must be a navy lad, then. "You can tell me, lad. You said you're the Doctor, but that's not a name," he said in a gentle voice, waving the Doctor towards the chair across from him. When the Doctor sat, gripping his mug like he thought it would stop his hands from shaking, he continued, "Wait, don't tell me. Are you Geoff, returned to us?" 

"What?" Total confusion bloomed large in the Doctor's mind.

"There was that show on the telly, this little boy that was a fighter pilot in the war in a previous life. Reincarnation, they called it," Wilf said triumphantly. 

"What?!" _This was too weird. Humans, I forget I'm not supposed to know this house and he's thinking I'm.._. "I'm not..."

"Wait until I tell Sylvia! It's proof, it is. She said it was all nonsense, but I told her it was real!" Wilf crowed.

"No, I'm not..." the Doctor protested weakly. 

"We'll have a devil of a time convincing the government you're back, Geoff. Especially NHS. You'll have to stay good and healthy, you will."

Groaning, the Doctor buried his head in his hands. Rassilon, he could tell that trait ran strong in the family. Good old Wilf, he'd missed that. "I'm not Geoff," he insisted. 

"Well, of course not, you've been reincarnated. I'd expect you'd have changed your name. New set of parents on this go around, obviously," Wilf said mildly, no less convinced he was on the right track.

"Bloody hell!" the Doctor said, standing. "I'm a bleeding alien! I'm not the reborn soul of..." _Thank you, Donna. Can't keep it shut now, can I? Mouth, foot, hello! Even better at spilling the beans now, aren't I?_

"Ha! I knew it! They're real! All these years I knew we couldn't be alone in this gigantic universe, no matter how much people insisted it was all fairy stories and hoaxes. Though, shouldn't you be smaller, green, or gray? I thought you lot were all little green men or the like. Where's your saucer?"

"I don't have a ship at the moment, and it's not a saucer, it's a box. It's not ready yet," the Doctor sighed, relieved that he'd not been laughed at. "And you really don't want to run into that lot, Chloros Three breeds some nasties. All that methane in the atmosphere, tends to make anyone a bit irritable. Though that's no justification for kidnapping people."

"But you look human," Wilf accused. "Couldn't you try to look like a proper alien?"

 

 

Rose awakened to find herself on the sofa and the Doctor gone. Or so she thought, until she heard him in the kitchen talking to Wilf. She pretended to sleep, listening in. She'd had to smother a giggle when Wilf had thought he was his deceased son-in-law returned. Even more funny was the Doctor's reaction. As if the truth was any less strange, if not outright unbelievable. She finally approached, coming to stand behind the Doctor. "It's true, he's an alien. Or part alien. That's why they're after us. Some other aliens taking people over and they're out to get us, him especially."

Wilf nodded, seemingly unfazed. "Knew it. Pod people, alien hybrids, it's all true. So your mum was one of those abductees, then? Are you one too, lass?" 

"No, I'm human. Rose Tyler. Pleased to meet you," she said with a smile. "This is the Doctor."

"Hello! And my mother was an alien too."

Wilf looked even more intrigued. "Same to you, my dear. Ever so delighted," he said, quickly turning back to stare at the Doctor. "But, really? Your Dad, then?"

"Same."

"But how? If they were both aliens then how are you only part?"

The Doctor sat down, looking bemused. He crossed his arms over his chest, smirking at Rose. She gave him a bewildered look, but said nothing. If he wanted to try doing it this way, well it was his damned funeral. As credulous as the old man seemed, she wasn't sure the whole "hi, I'm the product of an accident in a parallel world and your alternate granddaughter and I think we might be related in a weird way" thing would work. 

"Nope, complete accident. Long story, really. But I sorta knew you in a different universe. Well not you you, but a different you. Very similar, really," the Doctor said.

"Hmm, that one's true as well. Parallel worlds, not just an idea in those science fiction books. I told Donna there was more out there than us lot could see. Told her she just had to open her mind to all the possibilities. Just wait until she meets you two."

"Nope," the Doctor said firmly. "Can't risk it. It'll put them in danger, knowing what I am, knowing who we are. We shouldn't have even come here, you'll be at risk yourself." He looked up at Rose, giving her an apologetic look. He wished he could talk her into staying here, it would be safer for her than staying with him. "We should go."

"You can't! It's pouring out, and Ms Tyler would probably like a cuppa and you both look like breakfast wouldn't go wrong," Wilf protested. He didn't want to think of these poor kids out in this mess with no where to go. "At least stay for a bit. This weather's for the ducks, it is. Terrible cold, too. Hard to believe it's almost June, with the way it is out there."

Rose nudged the Doctor, hoping he'd say yes. As anxious as she was to get somewhere easier to defend from any attackers, she wasn't thrilled at the idea of getting soaked. And he could do with more rest, since he was still looking a bit peaked. He was still pale, even if he was pretending to be fine. Maybe seeing a parallel version of Donna's family would do him good. They were his family, almost, from that bit of Donna in him. "Well," he wavered, looking at Rose for direction. Maybe it was too domestic, but he looked almost hopeful.

"Please?" Wilf asked, almost pleading. "It'd do me good not having to worry about you out in the wet. You'd be getting more sick, you would. Alien or not, you'd be chancing it, and your girlfriend probably wouldn't benefit from a soaking anymore then you would. Could even give you a lift somewhere, once Sylvia gets back with the car."

The Doctor sighed. "Rose?"

"I'm not big on the idea of going out in this, and you're not looking too good."

"I'm alright, really," he insisted, trying to reassure her. He turned to Wilf, looking hesitant still. "Fine, we'll stay. But only until the weather clears. I'm not going to risk you and your family. I won't. We'll find a place to hide away from anyone who'll be in danger of getting caught in the middle of this."

Wilf gave him a broad smile, chuckling. "Good lad. Knew you'd see sense, even if it was only for your girl's sake."

The Doctor didn't try contradicting Wilf's misconception. Rose wasn't any more then the best friend who he loved more than anything, but he could always hope. Maybe she she still loved him, if she'd believe who he really was. Maybe it wasn't that kind of love or she'd changed the nature of her feelings. Not that he'd blame her. The whole meta-crisis thing confused him too at times and he'd changed. This whole situation seemed tailored to show the worst pieces of himself in stark relief when he couldn't avoid it and could least wanted to. 

"If you don't mind me asking," Wilf said, curiosity evident. "Are you from Mars, by chance?"

 

 

Sylvia and Donna returned from Brighton just before noon, still complaining about the unfortunate turn the weather had taken when they came through the door. First thing that met their eyes when they came in was some pale, thin chap sitting cross legged on the table with a laptop. "Hello," the Doctor beamed, surprised how happy he was to see a Donna, even if it wasn't the one who was his best mate.

"My God, a burglar!" Sylvia gasped, backing away slightly. "You distract him while I ring 999."

"I'll soon sort him out, Mum," Donna said ominously, hefting her overnight bag meaningfully. 

"Wait, I'm not a burglar," he said, laying aside the computer he'd borrowed from Wilf earlier. He'd been looking for any indications on what his pursuers were up to and how far the Old Ones' influence had spread. Quickly scrambling for a solution to diffuse the situation, he was halfway to a plan to explain himself when Wilf came back in from outside, still wearing his rain slicker. 

"Stay back, Gramps. We've got an intruder," Donna cautioned. 

"And he's sitting on our table," Sylvia said with a sniff of distaste, before her father could explain. 

"Hold on, my girls. This is my new friend, the Doctor. He and his girl got into a spot of trouble and needed a place to get warm. Where's Rose?" Wilf asked, turning to the Doctor.

"In the loo, getting freshened up," the Doctor said, trying to not think of Rose, naked in the shower. _Dangerous thoughts, old boy. Not appropriate for the company I'm in. Can't go getting myself all worked up with Donna and her mother looking on. Good grief, how do they function with all these distracting hormones getting in the way?_

"The Doctor? Doctor Who?" Donna said with only slightly less suspicion.

"Precisely," the Doctor said with a smile. "Hello!"

"So, you're one of my father's strays. He'd had a mangy mutt last month that'd stopped in," Sylvia said, giving him a strange look. _Of all the cheek, comparing him to a stray dog._ He was getting ready to protest when Sylvia continued, "That one at least had the sense to stay off the table."

 _Oh, right. Primitive sense of propriety still hanging in there in this century_ , he thought as he carefully slid off the table to stand. He quickly backed up and tried to look less imposing when he noticed Sylvia's reaction to his height. _Try looking smaller, they're already jumpy. Don't want to startle them anymore than they already are._

"The Doctor?" Donna retorted. "Pull the other one, Spaceman, it's got bells on. 'Doctor' is not a name, it's a bloody profession. What's your real name?"

"That is his name," Wilf insisted. "Don't be rude. He's an alien. I'm sure they find our ways just as strange, Donna. Different strokes, my girl."

Just then, Rose emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and hair still wrapped up in a towel. She felt like a new person, thoroughly enjoying the chance to wash off the remnants from the rubbish tip they'd landed in. 

"Omigod!" Donna gasped, her and her mother wearing identical looks of disbelief. 

"Hi," Rose said, feeling slightly embarrassed at the attention. The Doctor was looking just as discomfited as she felt. 

"Do you bloody know who just came out of that room?" Donna demanded, turning to her grandfather before going back to staring at Rose.

"Well, that's his lady friend, Rose," Wilf said mildly. Sylvia and Donna both gave him looks of incredulity. 

"That's the bleeding Vitex heiress, Gramps. You were on the news on the radio this morning! We heard the news alert before we left Aunt Mavis'. You were kidnapped!" Donna exclaimed, suddenly rounding on the Doctor. "And you, spaceman, you're the bloody sicko that carted her off! Just imagine, a real alien abduction!"

"What? No!" he protested, even as Rose grabbed his arm to hold him back. He hadn't realized how good it would feel to be called "Spaceman" again. Even if the tone was hostile. 

"My God, it's really her!" Sylvia murmured. "Rose Tyler, the Vitex heiress is in _our_ house."

Rose would've given anything to escape about now. This was beyond embarrassing. "Really, I'm just Rose. No one special, nothing to get all bothered about," she insisted, blushing. She elbowed the Doctor when he went to protest. 

"No one's been kidnapped, they're both been caught up in some secret agent thing. All very covert ops, and all that," Wilf insisted, seeing his daughter edging towards the phone. "Now, Sylvia, you can't go calling the police on them. They'll kill them."

 

 

Another hour later, and Rose and the Doctor managed to explain – somewhat. Even if he'd almost had a meltdown over being asked again if he was from Mars. He'd insisted that they'd be leaving so as to not cause any more difficulties but Sylvia and Donna proved to be more insistent that they stay. "We've got that spare room, since Donna's got her own flat in town. Can't have it said that we weren't hospitable to the Vitex heiress herself," Sylvia said in a tone that said she wouldn't accept any arguments. 

"Just if you're gonna crash at my Mum and Gramps', you Space Dunce, you're gonna have to learn the functions of furniture on planet earth. Here, we sit in these things called 'chairs'," Donna chided, giving him an unimpressed look. "Don't know about you, Blondie," she said to Rose. "But personally I think you could've landed something better than this skinny streak of nothing, even if he's not half bad on the eyes."

"Oi, I'm right here, _listening_ ," the Doctor said, slightly annoyed. "And I do know the proper use of chairs. Just more room on the table, and less pressure on the lumbar regions."

They'd been given a room that was very familiar to him, though he could see the minute differences between the one here and the one in the other universe. Sylvia had offered up her own, but they'd both insisted they couldn't impose. Donna had offered her own flat, but they'd said that would be worse, being in the middle of London with the whole police force and military looking for them, besides Torchwood. So here they were, sharing a room, both too nervous to want the other out of sight for long. He'd had a moment to ponder the peculiarities of having so many memories from the other Donna. Thank goodness she'd only imparted thirty odd years worth, instead of the nine hundred years or so of his own. That was another thing he'd have to keep mum about – no spilling the differences in calculating earth years versus Gallifreyan. They'd been shocked enough at 906 – his true age would have them all doing that weird face that reminded him of that painting. _Edvard Monck, it was, his painting 'the Scream'. Oooh, bad image that. Exactly how one Jackie Tyler would probably react. After she got done slapping him. Not like Rose had ever cared about the age gap._

"It's like coming home for you, yeah?" Rose asked softly from beside him. She'd managed to get him to take a side of the double bed instead of being gentlemanly and taking the floor. Not that she was expecting anything more of it than a hand to hold and feeling like she wasn't alone. He didn't answer at first, staring up at the ceiling as he leaned against the headboard, eyes shadowed. Finally he gave a minute nod, not looking at her. "Yeah," he whispered. "It's all so different, but at the same time, it's not."

"Oh?" She hoped he'd clarify that statement. It reminded her of her own observations of him. So different, but the same in some ways. He seemed more pensive at times, less confident in others. She'd almost expected him to be more stubborn and bullheaded about staying where he'd been leaning against the bed, facing the door. It had almost been like he'd doubted his own place, choosing to stand guard over her sleep, like he'd not dared to get near her. She'd felt his tension when he'd carefully arranged himself next to her, stretching out on top of the duvet. 

"It's all so very weird. I'm still me, but there's bits in here that I know have to come from her. And while I had never hoped... I just don't want to end up ruining everything. I've caused enough destruction, as it is," he muttered, remorse evident. 

She leaned up on an elbow to look at his face, seeing the pain and regret etched deeply. "What happened to Donna? The other Donna, that is. You mentioned something happening to her, just before you got feeling poorly. What happened to the other Donna Noble, the one who left with the other Doctor?" she asked, knowing it would probably hurt him to speak of it, but also knowing it would be like excising an old wound. And he was the type to bury the pain until it festered inside, only to come pouring out in a torrent when he couldn't bear it any longer. From the shades of her first Doctor she'd seen in him, it would end up coming out in barely restrained angry words. He'd a temper, no matter how much he tried to hold it in.

The question hurt, enough so he had to close his eyes against it, but there wasn't enough of his Time Lord restraint left to hold back the bitter words. "What do you think happened, Rose? I killed her. The Destroyer of Worlds, that's me. All I've ever done, turned wrong. Trying to make things better, bumbling in like the self-appointed saviour, and all I do is make it so much worse," he said harshly, voice still a whisper, though a raw husky one. "And here I am, bound to do the same again. As if destroying one Donna Noble wasn't enough, got to go mucking about the life of the one in this universe."

"She's dead?" Rose gasped. "It's like Dalek Caan foretold. You mean, you – he just let her die?"

"No, worse. He'd have done the only thing he could've done, what she would've wanted the least. A human-Time Lord meta-crisis is unsustainable with a human brain. He'd have taken her memory, all of it that had to do with our times together. She might as well be dead, and it's my fault. All of it."

"But, that's bullshit. You saved us all," Rose insisted, trying to pull him out of piling all the blame on himself. 

"That was her, not me. All I did was pilot the TARDIS, build that biological inversion catalyzer gun that Davros promptly destroyed and pretty much kill my best mate," he insisted, moving away from her to sit on the edge of the bed.

 _Does that mean the other Doctor is all alone out there, feeling just as bitter and guilty as this one? Or has he already moved on, piling adventure on top of adventure in an attempt to stop thinking about it,_ she wondered. Rose didn't attempt to reach out and comfort him yet, knowing he'd just pull away, deeming himself unworthy. She could only hope to hear him out, keep him talking and maybe get him to listen for once instead of taking all the blame on himself. _The Doctor and his martyr complex. Always had to be the lonely angel who thinks he's lost his spot in heaven and condemns himself to a living hell as penance._ "You didn't kill her, you know. It was all an accident, it was all in the prophesy," she tried reassuring him, even as she mourned for the other Donna's lost brilliance herself. 

"Still," he insisted. "The most important woman in the Universe, back to being a small-minded temp from Chiswick. Because of me. _Both_ of me."

"She'll find a way to be brilliant in her own way. Donna didn't seem the type that would've let you take all of that. And she had to have known what was gonna happen, didn't she? She knew everything you do, after the meta-crisis, didn't she?" Rose demanded, moving to sit beside him. When he didn't answer, she gave him a little shove, forcing him to acknowledge her. "Didn't she?"

"Yeah, but..." he admitted reluctantly, ready to protest against his own innocence in the matter. 

"Did she ever say it was your fault, or blame you?" she persisted. 

"No," he admitted sullenly, starting to sulk. 

"Then, there, you can't go making yourself the appointed bearer of all the universe's wrongs, Doctor," she said firmly. 

"Why can't I? It's usually me who causes it all..." he started, starting to look angry and frustrated. 

She knew his anger was self-directed. Oh yeah, there was blood, anger and revenge in there. But it was more the anger and revenge that would cause him to take a flying leap from the tallest building in recrimination for the imagined sins he bore. The kind of blood that stained his soul and left him feeling he was the source of so much suffering that only his own misery would suffice for amends. "I'm sorry, but I don't believe it's your fault, you know," she said softly. "Where do we go from here?" she asked, not knowing what else to say that would help. Even though the thought of trying to smack some sense into him did occur to her, force him to see how bloody arrogant it was to go assigning himself all the fault. No wonder the proper Doctor said she needed to fix him. She just hoped she had the patience. 

"That, Rose Tyler, is a very good question. Absolutely brilliant, you are. As for an answer, I have absolutely no clue. Just I know we've got to keep moving on. They've got no idea on our location, from what I've managed to gather from the news agencies and the bloggers out there. Some chap on Twitter has been complaining about a blockade just before One Canada Square, and another one's blathering on about the panda cars all up and down the motorway, searching all vehicles going into and out of the Docklands. Apparently they think I'm heading for Torchwood One, and stopping everything between there and your Mum's. They've got no clue," he said mildly, turning a manic smile her way as if all the remorse was already forgotten. 

_Ever as mercurial as before,_ she thought. _Gives me whiplash trying to keep an eye on his moods, it does. Better he's thinking on what to do, than wallowing in his guilt_. He was still the Doctor, she could see, even if he was less predictable and more moody than even that Northern bloke with the bright blue eyes that she'd first fallen in love with. She still wasn't ready yet to try for that, especially since he seemed too fragile himself for that. Hopefully, this whole mess wouldn't do his head in worse than it already was so they could atleast try for something someday. After all, how well had she ever known him, either of him. So much hidden in his past that all seemed to be rearing its ugly head now.


	17. Chapter 17

17

No stopping some people....

Early the next morning, Donna had stopped by on her way to work, offering to talk to one of her friends who was a clerk in the Ministry of Defense. She hoped to find out how many people were in on the pursuit of the Doctor and Rose. No amount of arguing the dangers would dissuade her, either. He'd ended up getting her mobile number, since he doubted they'd still be in the area. They could ring her up on the mobile that was formerly Lewis' to find out what she'd learned.

"You two will be too noticeable, looking like you are. If you're planning on gadding about, you should at least think of disguising yourselves. And you, Spaceman, should contemplate discovering that wonder of human ingenuity: it's called a _comb._ Might help with that bed-head mess you call a style," Donna said teasingly. 

"Oi! You've no idea how hard it is to get it like this!" he protested. "Took twenty three minutes and seventeen seconds, it did. I even used a damn mirror."

"Could've fooled me. Seems like you could've gotten the same effect riding around in the garbage lorry for an hour. You look like a hedgehog who's been evicted from its hedge," Donna sniffed. Teasing aside, she was rather intrigued by the whole story they'd told her. Though, for the life of her, she couldn't figure out what they'd want with that man. "And it's extremely recognizable, too. You'd be better off hiding it, somehow."

After Donna had left, Wilf finally talked the Doctor into coming down to the senior center with him. 

"We can't! It's too open, people will be looking for us, and we're recognizable," the Doctor had insisted. 

Wilf's reaction was to plop a knit cap on the Doctor's head, hand him a denim jacket and tell him that that'd work. "No one'll see that hair of yours and without that coat, no one will know you," he'd said just before they went out. "Rose will have to do the same if you won't consider trying more permanent disguises."

Sylvia had offered to do some shopping for them to augment their supplies. She'd pointed out that most of the things in their bag would've been on the list of their possessions inventoried by the police already. He'd reluctantly given her a wad of notes that he'd hidden in his inside coat pocket, telling her he didn't want to be any more of an inconvenience for them. She'd replied, "Nonsense, you need someone to do it for you and you can't exactly do it."

Rose had jumped in and had suggested he wear the jeans she'd pulled out of the duffel. "Or we could dye your hair and cut it if you don't like the hat," she pointed out. "No one's seen you in those before and Mum and Dad wouldn't have told them everything."

"I'm not..." he'd started, but Rose interrupted him. "Think about it, Doctor, Donna and Wilf are right. I've been thinking about the same thing for the last day. We've got to do something, because we can't just stay here and still stay in the loop," she insisted. "And even if Sylvia's getting us different clothes, it's not going to be enough. They'll eventually find us here and Wilf's idea is a good one. It's the last thing they'll be expecting."

That earned her a glare, after which the Doctor had put the cap on with only some minor grumbling. He even submitted to wearing the jeans and a denim jacket, complaining he was starting to look like a punk. Telling him that he was less likely to be recognized that way, since the police and MI5 would assume he was still in fatigues or the suit. Pointing out that dressing all in black outside of a Goth convention would only guarantee him to be noticed. Rose didn't dare tell him she'd asked Sylvia to get some hair dye, since she figured that would really get him going. Despite the urgency of the situation, there were some things she'd have to force him into, whether he liked it or not. Blending in enough to be unnoticed or even unrecognizable would be one of them. It was one of the reasons she'd kept him away from the razors when he'd had his shower. For one thing, the extra scruff would help with the disguise and she knew he was still getting periods of momentary weakness where he'd almost faint. Whatever was going on, it hadn't cleared up entirety. He'd dozed off several times the afternoon before and slept most of the night, when she knew he had rarely slept since his arrival. At one point yesterday, he'd fallen asleep on the table, where he'd once again perched himself with Wilf's laptop. That had caused more concern than upset over his inappropriate use of the furniture. He'd insisted he was fine when Sylvia had awakened him, but he'd been unable to hide the weakness in his legs. He'd tried saying he'd slept wrong, even as he'd used to table catch himself. It didn't fool anyone. It was painfully obvious he wasn't feeling right, though getting him to admit to it was impossible. The only thing he'd admitted to was the dreams were causing him problems. Wilf had pulled her aside and mentioned it was likely he was suffering from battle fatigue and mayhaps getting his mind off of things would help if he wasn't willing to talk. All she knew was talking only seemed to upset him more at this point and only left her tempted to slap him out of his wallowing.

When Sylvia had returned from shopping he'd found out the rest of Rose's strategy for keeping them uncaptured and alive. "What?" he'd almost shouted in disbelief. "No, no, no. Rose..."

"Zip it. You're not the only one who's not happy about this. I'm dyeing mine, too."

"But...blonde? Can't I at least be ginger? Couldn't you find some sympathy for me? I can't be blonde again – it wasn't that great on the last go around. I had curls, Rose, _curls!"_

"Yeah, and I'll be a brunette again. I'm forced to go back to my natural hair color when I haven't been since I was fourteen. I'm the one who's gonna be just sorta brown," she'd said firmly. 

"I've got the hat," he'd tried hopefully, a pleading look on his face. 

"What if you lose it, hmm? What then?" she'd asked, forcing him to admit she had him there. She'd offered to do it for him, but in the end he'd sullenly retreated to the bathroom and dyed it himself. He wouldn't willingly show her the results, since he'd come out a half hour later with the cap pulled down around his ears and a sour look on his face. With a mischievous smile, she'd plucked the hat off his head, leaving her staring in shock. Wilf had the restraint to just chuckle and Sylvia looked more aghast than anything, while the Doctor was glaring worse than before. 

"Well, I've seen worse, down around Piccadilly. It's not like they'll be picking you out of a crowd now, is it?" she managed to say, suppressing the urge to laugh. It was working until he raised an eyebrow and snorted. 

"I resemble one of those mephitids from the Americas that are commonly known as a 'skunk'," he said in a flat voice. "How making me look like a right numpty is going to help the situation, I have no idea, but I blame you."

"It'll wash out in six weeks," she consoled him, smiling at the analogy. "I saw a skunk once, on a mission in New York. They're kinda cute, you know." He gave her an offended look, which prompted her to stand up on tip toes to put his cap back on. "There, better?" she asked teasingly. He made a noncommittal noise in his throat and shrugged. "At least it's not permanent. It's not too... blonde is it?"

"Um," she said thoughtfully. "More orange. Almost ginger, really." He perked up a little at that, finally noticing Sylvia's attempts to keep from laughing and Wilf looking just as amused. "It's not that bad, is it?"

"Well, they invented hats for a reason, I'm sure," Wilf said, trying for the nicest response he could muster. 

"I knew it," the Doctor groaned. "I look like a complete twonk. Let's get the hell out of here before Donna sees me, because she'll never let me live this down."

"You should've let me do it. I, at least, have experience with it. If you hadn't used the whole package, I could've fixed it," Rose told him. 

"Live and learn, Rose Tyler. Live and learn. I'll just have to make do with a hat until the six weeks are up. Hopefully by then we'll have this all sorted out," he replied with a sad smile. "At least you're still lovely, even if your hair is all brown now."

"Though my Mum would love to see you like this," she pointed out to his horror. Add Jackie Tyler to the list of people who absolutely must not see him like this. At least she hadn't threatened him with a haircut again. He rather liked his hair, even if they'd already made him do awful things to it. 

 

 

He'd had no intention of staying around here very long, just long enough to gather intel and head for safer territory where he could find the enemy's weaknesses and plot a strategy. Infirmities be damned, just because he was feeling a bit off didn't mean he'd the luxury of recovery time. Unfortunately, so far, the only real game plan had been drawn up by Wilf, who insisted he and his elderly friends would be best at scouting. "No one looks at us old folks and thinks we're up to anything beyond bingo and knitting. Perfect cover," he reasoned. "And Mrs. Butler has a nephew who's bound to be able to help. He's got all kinds of experience hiding from the police, him and his motorcycle club."

"You have got to be kidding me," the Doctor moaned, imagining a group of old biddies chasing him about before handing him off to a bunch of toughs. He was not too far off. 

Once at the senior center, Wilf made his announcement, interrupting a bridge tournament, they were quickly surrounded by the elderly people gathered there. The card games were quickly forgotten with Wilf's offer of something more exciting. They could use sight seeing tours as a cover for reconnaissance missions, he proposed, telling them that this was all to save the republic from evil outside influences appeased the few leery of foreigners. _If they only knew..._ The old ladies kept pinching his cheeks and calling him "just precious", telling him he needed a fattening up, and tried to invite him for shepherd's pie and bubble and squeak. Rose was just as much welcomed, even if they didn't recognize her from the celebrity pages. Wilf hadn't told his friends who they really were, calling them "John" and "Sophie", much to their amusement. The aliases had been the Doctor's idea – he didn't want the old folks knowing enough to put them in danger. Bad enough he'd already brought Donna's whole family into this and these people were involved to the degree they were and bad enough Wilf would be doing one final task for them after they'd left the area. A last effort to throw the hounds off the scent, as it were.

He wasn't even going to tell Mrs. Jocasta Butler's relatives know who they really were, either. Less people to get hurt if and when it all came off the rails. All they needed was a place to lie low while he got the TARDIS coral ready for showtime. Hopefully it would be a chance for things to normalize somewhat. Sylvia had even donated a flower pot for the coral, bless her heart. 

Jocasta had sent them to her nephew Edgar's garage in Hackney with a tin of chocolate biscuits in hand, saying that and the note inside would ensure entry. She'd said her nephew and his friends were "a touch paranoid, but they're basically good lads who kept the vandals from upsetting her window boxes again." The willingness to help from all these people, all of whom were relative strangers, had rather surprised him.Rose had found it amusing, teasing him all the way to Edgar's garage. They'd be close enough to Canary Wharf so the Doctor and Rose would be in a relatively familiar area, but far enough out to be beyond the areas being actively searched by the police. 

"Plenty of places to hide, at least," the Doctor reasoned. "And I knew the parallel version of this area quite well. Not too far outside of Shoreditch, if I recall. Lived out this way for a time."

Rose turned her head from where she'd been staring out the car window to look at him in surprise. "Really?"

"Yup. Such a long time ago, it was. Not that you'd have even recognized me. Not that I'd have even recognized myself, if I had seen me like I an now. So much has changed, and I was so very young then."

"When was that?" 

"Back in the 1960's, it was. The Beatles and the Rolling Stones were the biggest things a few years after that." 

"They're still here, you know, in this universe," she told him.

He gave a content smile. "Some things did go right with this world, then. Even if you got all these damn zeppelins floating about and the worst entities imaginable taking over your government's covert agencies. At least there's half decent music here, even if Ian Dury never stepped foot into the recording studios here."

"The parties back then must've been amazing," she said, still surprised he was telling her this much about his past. _Must be nostalgic for him, coming through here_. 

"Didn't go, not then. Too busy exploring human history at the time. Wasn't really my scene, not with me looking like an old man," he replied with a rueful smile. He didn't mention Susan, that memory was still too painful to touch upon. 

"And nine hundred isn't old?" she teased. 

"Well, at least I don't look it. I just look like a typical antisocial youth, thanks to your brilliant idea," he scoffed. 

"Are you sulking?"

"I'm not! Time Lords don't sulk," he groused, sulkily.

"You're half human now, and you _are_ sulking," she rejoined.

"Still a Time Lord," he muttered, settling back to stare out his own window. 

"Sorry," she said, feeling terrible for reminding him. He'd have to get used to it some time and accept it for his own sake. Change wasn't necessarily a bad thing, not always. She was learning that herself, seeing the changes in him. She knew she wasn't the same 19 year old shop girl who'd run off with a stranger in a blue box or the 21 year old who'd said goodbye on a beach in Norway. Five long years she'd been in Pete's World, four of them spent jumping universes to find him to stop the stars going out. Five years where she'd learned to rely on her own inner strength and her teammates', never believing that the impossible wasn't possible. Maybe she wasn't as carefree as she was then, and maybe she'd seen more terrible things on that journey than she'd ever imagined, even after seeing the end of the world, but she'd made it. Maybe this wasn't exactly what she'd hoped for when she'd dreamed of being reunited, but things always have a way of turning out different from what you expect. 

Rose figured that the only way to help him was to try treating him like normal. Kid gloves only served to let him fall into one of his depressions and he obviously wasn't going to let anything out about his physical condition unless he absolutely had to. Hopefully, he'd let her in enough to help. Maybe she could help him remember what it was to be them again, the Doctor and Rose, Defenders of the Earth. He needed her, and that was very obvious. She needed him, too, because she couldn't stand to lose him again – any version of him. This was their chance at happiness, if they could ever get past the monsters and his own guilt complex and insecurities. "It'll be alright, Doctor. We'll make it, somehow. We'll figure this out, beat the bad guys, and get our hair sorted out after. Better with two, remember?" she said, nudging him hopefully. 

He gave her a half smile which slowly bloomed into a full one. "Yeah. Mutt and Jeff, Shiver and Shake, the old team, reunited. We'll be magnificent, that what we'll be," he said with a trace of his usual humor. His eyes were still tired, though. She decided to ignore it, to wait until something came of it. They had other things to focus on besides his apparent traumas. She just hoped that he wouldn't push himself into doing something stupid, like getting himself killed or leaving her behind somewhere. She'd almost expected him to vanish from Wilf and Sylvia's in the middle of the night, leaving her with just a note of apology. 

 

 

 

Edgar was a large, bluff man in his late 40's, heavily bearded with an obvious penchant for tattoos, sporting over a dozen on his bare arms. He'd accepted the tin with indifference, saying his aunt had called ahead. He'd been unimpressed by the Doctor, but had given Rose a more interested look, eyeing her up and down. "Sorry, I'm taken," she'd said gently, but firmly. She didn't want to go upsetting a man who looked like he could tear telephone directories apart with his bare hands quite easily. Not that what was going on with the Doctor quite instituted being 'taken', but she still held onto the chance of that. 

The Doctor hadn't seemed to notice, nor said much then, being more focused on looking over the scattered tools, automotive parts, and motorcycle components around the garage. It almost seemed like it didn't matter the origin of the stuff, if there was grease and spanners involved, he was happy to look around. She'd almost forgotten his mechanical bent. She'd briefly considered offering up his skills to Edgar, but realized the disaster that would occur with him inevitably attempting to make a motorcycle more sonic, or car boots that were bigger on the inside. That certainly wouldn't help with the whole lying low plan. Of course, staying quiet on that account didn't amount to much when he started tinkering on something under the hood of a green Renault.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Edgar snapped, coming up behind the Doctor and looking at him with distrust. 

"Your alternator pulley is a millionth of a millimeter out of alignment, putting strain on the power steering, which is probably why your customer keeps blowing belts every month. That is, if the ghastly squealing noise hasn't driven them half barmy already," the Doctor said, straightening to look Edgar in the eye.

One of the mechanics working on removing a gear box from another vehicle shouted across, "Sounds about right, boss. Mrs. Murphy's had that damn thing in here four times in the last fortnight alone."

Edgar made a grumbling noise but said bluntly, "Can you fix it, then, or are you all gob and no action?"

The Doctor looked across to Rose who gave him an encouraging grin. "Well," he said, rubbing his neck. "I suppose I could..." He promptly pulled the sonic screwdriver from his pocket, keeping it hidden under his sleeve, grateful that the other noises in the garage would cover up the sound. Without pause, the motor roared to life, no hint of slipping belts to be heard. 

"The hell..." Edgar gasped in amazement, glaring in bewilderment at the Doctor. 

"No need to thank me, just a trick I picked up over the years. Amazing how simple these things are to repair. You humans have no idea how lucky you are to have such simple technology in this century," he replied with a smirk. 

Edgar and the other mechanics all chose to ignore the strange things he said in favor of checking out the car that had been the aggravation of the entire garage. They'd never expected to get the damn thing fixed to the point where Mrs. Murphy would stop bringing it back every Tuesday and Friday. They'd all been hoping she'd just give up and invest in a different auto – or find a different mechanics' shop. Who cared if the bloke sounded like a complete nutter, they decided. He was a mechanical genius. 

Rose was just glad to see him looking so pleased with himself for once, even if he was going to be thinking he was God's gift to mankind for the next year. Not that he already didn't already half the time, and at least he seemed well on his way to charming these guys into being allies, if not friends. They'd need some muscle at some point in the future. As much as he liked relying on brains alone, brawn would probably come in handy against the human servants of the Old Ones. 

Edgar grudgingly gave them the use of the small flat above the garage in return for a ridiculously low sum on the condition the Doctor solve anymore nightmare repairs that came in. He'd readily agreed, since it probably wouldn't take up much of his time and help stave off the boredom. It was a small flat, its appearance not brightened in the least by the dingy yellow curtains in the front window. The only curtain to be found in the whole place. Edgar hadn't been joking when he said it wasn't much, with its kitchen made for an anorectic midget and a bathroom on the same scale. The worn furniture it came with wasn't an improvement, either.

It wasn't what she'd had in mind when she'd considered moving back into her old flat, since this one was worse than the one she'd grown up in, but it was theirs until they could get the monsters dealt with. A home base for developing plans as they sorted through the Elder God's weaknesses and gathered information on which one it was exactly. As the Doctor had happily pointed out, not even a shred of carpeting to be seen anywhere in there. Even if the floors would undoubtedly be freezing underfoot.

At least his leather coat wouldn't stand out so much among the crowd that tended to frequent the place, since leather seemed to be popular. That had made him happy. Until she pointed out that boiler suits tended to be the dress code among the other mechanics hadn't impressed him. Not even pointing out that they at least weren't orange, despite the resemblance in appearance to the spacesuit he'd worn on Krop Tor, had improved his opinion on that. He'd grudgingly agreed he'd have to stick to wearing the jeans instead.

They wouldn't have to worry about money, either, since he'd come up with a small fortune hidden in his pockets that he'd only raised an eyebrow in answer to her questions about it's source. She just hoped it had been given to him by Pete before their escape, rather than him sonicing all the employee lockers at Torchwood.


	18. Chapter 18

18

Catch us if you can....

It had been five days since the Doctor and Rose had disappeared from the mansion in a blinding flash of light. Five days of Pete scanning various reports from his own field agents, CCTV cameras around the city and gauging the obviously mounting frustration MI5 had for not being able to locate their fugitive and his "victim" by Ferguson's temper. That man could throw a tantrum that made one of Tony's seem mild in comparison. While he was relieved they'd eluded capture, he wished he'd at least had something more to reassure Jackie they were alright, other than one blurry shot of a man in Kensington that was believed to be the Doctor. No sign of Rose, and they'd been unable to confirm the man's identity and no one in the area had remembered seeing him. And Jackie's worrying was driving him up the wall. The only clue there'd been was an elderly man from Chiswick who'd said he'd been paid by a stranger to deliver a note to Canary Wharf. No amount of questioning had revealed him knowing anything else or even seeing Rose. Just one note, with the words:

Still think you'll catch me? Still think you're game? Try your best, you'll never find us. Allons-y!  
P.S. You really need to learn to be less predictable. Spoils the fun, you know

Agent Ferguson had promptly requisitioned the note as evidence, having the temerity to use their onsite laboratories to scan the paper for trace evidence. Other than a pile of fingerprints, some on file and some not, and completely generic paper from a notepad traced to the Met Headquarters themselves, nothing. That set off an inquiry there, the police thinking there could be an accomplice under their own roof. Fortunately for them, they just had a careless and forgetful individual, instead. One PC Andy Lawson admitted to losing his notepad somewhere, saying it had disappeared from his panda car the day before. 

(No one stopped to consider his elderly neighbor, one Elsie Jackson of Camberwell, had seen him drop it in the forecourt of their block of flats and that she'd promptly scooped it up. Her sister Dorothea Havers had said there was something going on and could she keep an eye out for that young constable in the building dropping anything? It was all very much like something you'd see on the telly, but it was no effort at all to pass it on to her sister when they'd met up in the city for a nice midweek brunch. How convenient Dorothea's friends were in town, touring around the British Museum like that. Saved them both from having to travel quite so far on their own.)

Pete took the words of the note to mean they were perfectly fine, even if he'd had to act like he was extraordinarily upset, sending Jake and the team out to search the area more thoroughly. Of course they didn't need to be told to lend any assistance necessary if they did come across the Doctor or Rose, and only to pretend to be focused on their capture. 

That even Torchwood's finest, the Met, the City Police and MI5 had yet to get even a hint of their location had impressed Pete to no end. Rose hadn't been kidding when she'd said they'd made an extraordinary team, and the Doctor was the best he'd ever see for blending in against impossible odds. Some things were impossible, but this was just ludicrous. How they'd managed to stay unseen in a city so closely monitored as London was, he couldn't begin to understand. He just hoped they were being careful. Of course, there was also the sudden spread of shorted out CCTV cameras around the city, and the recent plague of malfunctioning cash points that no one had any theories on how they'd been done, but that was chalked up to teenage vandals and other petty miscreants. MI5 had sent in a technician whose only theory was perhaps the interference from the energy feedback from the Doctor's stolen Vortex Manipulator had blown the circuits.

That Manipulator he'd cobbled together from stolen parts from the Archives had lead to an attempt at a full inventory that promptly lead nowhere. The records weren't complete enough, and they were chasing the only man who'd had any real clue to what most of the stuff was. Pete didn't know any better than anyone else at Torchwood what might possibly be missing – not that he would've told them if he had. There was only so much he'd comply with these goons, no matter what the Doctor had suggested. He just hoped the Doctor was getting some kind of plan in placet because having MI5's agents going through Torchwood's records and interviewing all the employees and seeing that creepy bastard Ferguson was starting to wear on his nerves. Jackie was already proposing a rescue mission to spirit Rose and the Doctor out of Britain, despite his insistence that not only would neither of them leave, they wouldn't be any safer elsewhere. All in all, Pete was already wondering if he'd gotten the more difficult end of the task to complete. 

 

 

Donna wasn't impressed with the one line text message from the Doctor telling her to meet him at a cafe in Spittalfields. The weird number came up as anonymous and had rung through to a takeaway curry place was half what she'd come to expect from him, the weirdo. She was not surprised either to find Rose instead, just her changed appearance. "Almost didn't recognize you," Donna said, eyeing Rose's outfit of baggy tracksuit bottoms and a hooded jumper as she sat down with a latte at a table near the back. The hair she'd known about from her Gramps. "Doing the whole incognito thing, I see."

Rose shrugged, grinning. "You should see the Doctor." She was holding her own cuppa, trying to look for anyone watching them or listening in without being obvious about it.

"Where is that dumbo?" Donna asked, looking around. There weren't any familiar faces in the dozen or so uni kids lounging about and talking loudly. The barrista looked like she saw enough customers daily to not take particular notice of any new people that started coming in. "Don't tell me he's doing the whole undercover thing like a complete nutter."

Rose smiled at that, almost laughing. "What would you say if I said 'kinda'? He even sent me with an escort," she said, indicating a rough looking character two tables away. "That's Jasper. Sorta the muscle for the motorcycle club we seem to have fallen in with."

Despite the heavy beard and looking like he spent the day lugging small cars or cattle under his arm, Jasper gave them a friendly wave and a smile that revealed several gold teeth. "Don't let looks fool you, he's more of a teddy bear than anything," Rose added.

"Looks more like the human version of a bull mastiff," Donna said in a low voice. "Hope he doesn't bite, not with teeth like that. But your bodyguard aside, I've not got much. Vivian only said things have gotten weird around the office – that's my friend that's a clerk at the Ministry of Defense. Started out temping the same time I did. Anyhow, apparently Undersecretary Smythe has been all weird, gone from trying to proposition her daily, to acting like some weird zombie and there's been this posh looking weirdo in dark glasses popping in at all hours. Not that she's complaining about the lack of grab-arse, since he's got a face only a blind mother could love. A mug like that, he should be wearing a bag over his head to keep him from scaring children and animals off," she added, thinking of the press photos of the man.

Rose listened carefully, gathering that whatever was going on, the Old Ones' servant had either wormed his way into influencing the Undersecretary Smythe, if he'd not just been taken over like Ferguson. This was not sounding good at all, possibly as bad as the Doctor had said.

"Plus, that weirdo always has this bunch of goons with him, all odd like he is. All of them talk in unison, like they're some sorta weird religious cult or something of the like. Viv says they go emptying the coffee machine every time they're in there and using up the last of the tea, without even thinking of adding more water to the kettle. Just leave it all for her to deal with, like she's the damn maid. I told her she'd be miserable working for all those stuffed suit types and politicians," Donna continued. 

 

 

After their conversation, Rose thanked Donna sincerely, since this information would be enough to keep the Doctor from carrying out his threat to set up his own surveillance or start hacking into the security systems in the building. He'd already been gung-ho to do just that, since even the automotive repair thing wasn't occupying much of his time. Time he seemed to have in spades, since she'd find him wide awake in the middle of the night, tucked into one of the various notepads he had scattered about, writing away in those weird circles she remembered from the TARDIS. Some of it looked like mathematical equations, with hand drawn diagrams of the coral he'd placed in that flower pot from Sylvia. When he wasn't tinkering in the garage below, he was watching the coral carefully. "Observational notes," he'd said, staring at the bit that looked more like something someone had brought back from holiday at the seashore than the start of a dimensionally transcendent time ship. Though she had to admit it was slightly larger than a football now, she'd been slightly miffed (along with Edgar) when he'd 'borrowed' the sandblaster unit from below and modified it somehow, leading to the fire alarms waking her at half three in the morning. Remaining angry at him while he was dancing around, even giving her a big hug and looking like a kid who's found out every day in future would be Christmas, was not possible.

"What the hell was that bang and where's all this smoke from?" she asked as she went around trying to open windows after turning off the alarm. The one with the lone curtain was sticking in the casement again. It had taken all her powers of persuasion to keep the Doctor from attempting to 'repair' it. She didn't want to deal with his likely discovery that he wasn't a carpenter or the draught when he inevitably got bored and left it only half finished.

"I did it!" he crowed, even as he flopped onto the sorry excuse for a sofa that was mouldering away in their tiny lounge area. He beamed up at her proudly, looking almost as he'd done when they'd traveled together in the other universe, the shadows under his eyes notwithstanding. 

"What did you do, besides probably wake half the neighborhood?" she asked, unsure if she really wished to know exactly what he'd been up to in the hours while most normal people slept. Apparently that didn't include Time Lords of any variety, part human or not.

"Don't worry about them. Mrs Carson and I have an agreement, Mr Singh is already at the restaurant preparing tomorrow's menu, and Mrs Edwards could sleep through a terrorist bombing. Which she so plainly told me she did, missing the entirety of the events nine years ago, only to wake up wondering what all the fuss was. Can you imagine? Mr Singh said she's managed to miss almost every major event in London in the last twenty years. Though, how being deafer than the average reptile is something to brag about is something else I'll never understand about you humans," he said airily, flipping a hand in Rose's direction. "As for me, I shatterfried the plasmic shell. Managed it easier than I expected, with no ready made particle accelerators on hand."

That set off her own internal alarms, making her forget the mere four hours of sleep she'd managed and the fact she'd have to be up in another three to go deal with the garage's phones and appointment books. They both weren't straying far from the immediate area. "You mean..." she sputtered before standing over the Doctor to fix him with a stern glare. "Doctor, did you turn Edgar's sandblaster unit, that he's still paying on, into a particle accelerator?"

He had the grace to look slightly guilty, pulling at his ear with one hand. "Maybe? But Rose, as long as he doesn't put more than four carburetors through it during a standard earth day, the chances of creating a singularity are pretty much nonexistent," he said, trying to sound reassuring and confident. "Safe as houses, really. Same goes for a catastrophic explosion of matter and antimatter reacting to the presence of the other."

"And if he does happen to put five in there, or even eight? What are the chances, then, of a black hole swallowing half of Shoreditch and Hackney? If we aren't just all blown to bits from antimatter, that is" she asked archly. 

He stared into space for a moment, running the statistical odds before giving her a slightly embarrassed smile. "Oooh, probably should fix that, shouldn't I? Though, finding that elusive Higgs Bozon should be easy-peasy. Simple matter of catching it with the right atmospheric conditions when the moon's at full apogee to nullify the extra gravitational effects of.... or not," he added, seeing the disapproving look on Rose's face. _Blimey, what's an old Time Lord supposed to do for entertainment around this place?_ What he'd give to blow this pop stand once and for all. It's so boring and... domestic and he hated all this lying in the shadows and waiting. "Or I could just return it before Edgar comes in and never ever do it again," he sighed in disappointment. 

"Yeah, that might be a good idea. It's not polite to go causing all that bother for Edgar when he's given us jobs and is leasing us this flat. Better to repair it and return it intact than to end up with us hunting for another place to hide," she said patiently. She was thinking about all the physicists with their labs that'd probably be green with envy for what he'd managed to accomplish, if not busy being preoccupied with gasping in horror at the sacrilege of someone managing it in a dumpy little flat like this one. They'd either be hailing him as a hero or lambasting him as a complete nutter and either assumption wouldn't be far from the truth. 

At least he'd agreed to wait on charging into MI5's headquarters to take on Ferguson until they'd more of an assessment of the numbers they'd be up against. Planning things ahead of time had never been the Doctor's method, but Rose had coaxed him into accepting the idea that now was a good time to change routines. At least try finding out how many of those Elder Gods were out there converting people before jumping in with both feet. If anything, they needed more gear for monitoring the situation. More than what they had, since she'd made him disable the Vortex Manipulator on the grounds it was too dangerous. He'd grudgingly done so, saying he'd be forced to do a real reconnaissance and scavenging mission now, since they'd be having to rely on the growing TARDIS most likely. At least he'd repaired her blaster so if it was needed, they'd have protection, since his planned location for 'requisitioning' things was the probably the most dangerous location he could think of. Except for the Met – he hadn't considered that one, which was small comfort.

And of course he knew everyone in the neighborhood by name, just like they knew him. Trying to explain to him that lying low generally meant you didn't go do the whole meet and greet thing and charm everyone in a three block area was pointless. He was used to being the big fish in a small pond, and anything less than his gregarious nature shining through wouldn't be him. He'd always been like that; granted, a lower middle class neighborhood in Hackney was a far cry from an alien planet in the next galaxy, but who was she to point that out? 

So far, despite their pictures being in every newspaper and on the news on telly, no one had connected the scruffy if strange new mechanic working in the neighborhood and his 'mousy little girlfriend' with the kidnapped heiress and her alien captor currently being sought by authorities. Amazing how frumpy clothes and a boring hair color made people stop noticing what was in front of them, since she'd already listened to Mrs. Whittaker's multiple theories on where they'd disappeared to and if that 'poor dear' was still even alive. What a mind bender that was, listening to someone's speculations on whether you were decomposing under a hedgerow somewhere in the countryside or lying unnoticed in an unemptied rubbish tip in Peckham. She thanked her Torchwood training for being able to keep a straight face as some of the theories got wilder, like the one where she was being forced to be a dancer in a revue in Blackpool. That one she'd told the Doctor about, leaving them both rolling with laughter, especially when he took her arm and tried teaching her how to do dances from the old dance halls. He'd ended up having to explain just how he'd managed to end up in the periphery of an off-Broadway vaudeville act in the 1930's. Of course, there'd be Daleks and genetic experiments gone awry, that was par for the course for him. What else could be expected?

And then came the second week in Hackney, with the Doctor expanding his precociousness since their plans for reconnaissance were put on hold until he could find a way to hack into the CCTV systems. Wilf had come by to let them know that Beverly Addams had heard from her grandson Jarvis that the Met was actively monitoring public WIFI hot points around the Greater London area, including all cafés and libraries. There went that option, until the Doctor could figure out another way around things. They'd briefly considered passing a message on to Pete for some inside assistance, but figured her entire family was being monitored too closely and under enough suspicion as it was. 

 

 

Really, it all seemed like the universe was finding new creative ways to torture him. The whole daily grind, 9 to 5 thing was awful. Add to that the necessity to blend in until he could salvage more information and set up a decent game plan that'd get those bothersome Old Ones and their servants off this backwards little rock, and he was going mental. He'd made a couple of decent mates, however, including Crispin Davies from the flat over the grocer's. Crispin had been stationed in Afghanistan with his army unit under the direction of the UN, so he at least knew what it was to be a man who'd seen the unspeakable horrors of war and the depths of desperation conflict could push people to. He'd also introduced him to the lovely little earth custom of going to the pub for the night. Then that quaint custom of the pub crawl, what a lark! And the coppers barely noticed one more drunk having a good time. It only took one night to discover that a half dozen pints of good English ale and he was happy as a lark, all his troubles forgotten, and the added bonus of finding oblivion with no nightmares for an average of 6 hours, 31 minutes and 53 seconds after his body shut down to metabolize all that methanol. 

Funny how the human DNA played havoc with his formally efficient toxin filtering system. Right shoddy design, that was, even if being tipsy was a lot more fun and took a lot less than when he'd been in 18th century France. Even if no one knew how to party like the French. He'd have to check out the pub scene in Paris one of these days. _Maybe they at least had banana daiquiris, since all he'd gotten from his request to the barkeep was a weird look and a repeated list of the different ales and lagers. No imagination, this lot. Probably the neighborhood they were in._

It was more fun when Rose came along, but after the third night in a row, she'd watched him with disapproval and hardly touched her drink. It was a bit naff, having to finish it for her. That last half pint had probably been a bit much, now that he thought about it. He'd tried explaining himself when he woke up in the mornings, but she'd only complained at the unfairness that he still hadn't experienced a hangover and that his tendency to snore was keeping her awake. 

He'd still hadn't dared to do more than hold her hand and a few (almost) innocent hugs, his natural restraint holding him back even after that fifth pint, when he'd already gotten everyone in the pub to do the Time Warp with him. A right laugh that film was – his new favorite since Donna had lent the DVD and her small portable DVD player to them four days before. He'd already memorized half the shoutouts, much to Rose's dismay. How was he to know she wouldn't appreciate him plopping the newspaper over her head, then soaking her with a squirt gun? She was all too serious, his Rose, despite his attempts to get her to live a little. Saving the world while having a spot of fun was old hat for him, really. He'd half forgotten he still had that in his pocket from his trip to Pompeii and it had been a welcome find. Another souvenir from his lost past. 

How could he explain that this whole thing had been like losing Gallifrey all over again, without ending up a sobbing wreck? The only thing keeping him going was her, even if he knew he didn't even deserve her. Or how tell her that she should run, run as fast as she could before he ruined her too, without her thinking he was pushing her away? Every time he tried, she adamantly refused and said it was the booze talking and the last time she was starting to resemble her mother too much for his comfort then. He'd decided to shut it before she clobbered him, since it distinctly appeared like she was in the mood to see if she could outdo her mother's own capabilities at knocking Time Lords senseless. Or worse, set Donna on his case. That was an even scarier thought, since he remembered the other Donna's oh too capable capacity for throwing every ounce of her weight behind her slaps. No exploring that variance of the parallels for him, thank you very much. Bad enough she was calling him Pepe Le Pew after that daft American cartoon character ever since she'd assaulted him by wrestling off his cap 'to find out what all the fuss was about.' Really, did she have to laugh at him like that, or have the nerve to wonder why he resumed sending Rose with Jasper to meet for information sharing after that? He wasn't that much of a Space Dunce, not as far as figuring Donna out. Not that he didn't secretly welcome the teasing like a man trapped in the Sahara thirsts for water, but at the moment he was still too raw, remembering other good times with a different Donna and a different him. 

Those the differences were telling, even if Rose was nice enough to not point them out so much and seemed to care just as much now. Though, her being a wet blanket and the constant concern over his nightmare fueled insomnia and the occasional tendency to fall asleep under whatever project Edgar had given him was driving him half mad. Really, just because he occasionally lost his balance or got lost in thought remembering some minutiae from a previous life didn't mean she had to panic every time he did. He hadn't slipped into any comas since that trip to Chiswick, had he? Just because he sometimes took naps in places she thought were unconventional and his meditation techniques were creeping her out, that didn't mean there was anything wrong with him. He'd tried his meditations where she was less likely to see and be bothered, but apparently sitting in front of the TARDIS coral staring was worse. Closing his eyes didn't seem to unnerve her any less. Was it just him, or had she always been so reactionary and worrying over him like this? It was kinda nice, in an aggravating way. He blamed culture shock.


	19. Chapter 19

19

The colors red and blue, we had a promise made....

Exactly two weeks after they'd run for their lives from Ferguson, the Doctor had his plan for his reconnaissance and scavenging mission drawn up. It was truly one of great inspiration and sheer cleverness, he thought. Edgar and his buddies were up for the idea, even if Rose thought he'd gone off his trolley. No amount of convincing would work to make her see how brilliant it would be, along with how fun, too. "Doctor, think of the chaos and damage it'll cause," she said doubtfully. 

"I know! It'll be just like old times! Come on, Rose, we won't be adding anything to it, the whole shebang is going to happen with or without us. Plus, it'll be good cover for what we're up to. The police will be totally occupied and we'll slip in without anyone noticing us," he said eagerly, barely able to conceal his excitement. "It's all clear in what I can see from the timelines."

Rose was glad to see he was displaying some of his old confidence, even if he was rather reckless about it. "How many pints had you had when you came up with this idea?" she asked, tapping a foot in aggravation, daring him with a look to avoid the question. 

"Um, let's see..." he said, looking up at the dirty ceiling and rubbing his neck while avoiding her eyes. "Well, a couple... but it's still a good plan. Very valid reasoning behind it, despite the lager."

"Yeah?" she said doubtfully, still not convinced. He was starting to squirm under her glare until finally he pulled himself up and gave her a haughty look.

"You, Rose Tyler, lack faith in my abilities. I'll have you know that my superior Time Lord mind isn't hindered to the extent one of you mere humans are, even if my liver is no longer efficient enough to filter it all out," he sniffed. 

"Sorry," she said, rolling her eyes. "But the whole Hells Angels bit is what's got me worried."

"Nonsense, that's the brilliance of it all. Who'd ever think to associate a half alien fugitive and his kidnapee with a bikers' meet? Or even think to look for us once the riot starts?" he said with a grin. He wiggled his eyebrows and leaned close and whispered, "You know I'm right, and you just don't want to have any fun."

She had to smile at his teasing tone, even if she wasn't exactly enthusiastic about this scheme. "I just wish your idea of fun didn't always result in us running for our lives. We do actually have to live here, you know," she reminded him. "They'll be sure to remember this after it's over and it'll be awhile before the TARDIS is ready to travel."

"Yeah, we're unforgettable, aren't we?" he said consideringly. "But good job we won't be noticed! No need to plan permanent evacuation of the planet just yet."

 _There really was no convincing him once he got going, even now,_ she thought. _Maybe his mad ideas were half the attraction in the beginning, but he's still got no clue on how to deal with domestic and why do I have a feeling I'm going to be doing the cleanup and damage control after? That is if we even survive._ "Just promise me you won't do anything stupid, like get yourself killed? I'm not losing you again," she told him, giving him an affectionate shove. 

"Oh, I'm harder to kill than you'd imagine," he assured her, hoping he was not actually lying. He didn't have any intentions of shuffling off this mortal coil, but the timelines were still a bit blurry and the whole thing about not being able to see your own... well, if he started turning into a worry wart, he'd never get anything done, really. Especially since 38% of humans' injuries occurred in their little homes with doors, windows and, oh the horror of all travesties, knickknacks. Just went to show how dangerous that 'normal' life really was. Riding along with a biker gang and waiting for the riots to start was relatively safe in comparison. And a lot more exciting, too. If he was lucky, they'd get the chance to run for their lives again. Love the running. A good dose of exercise was supposed to be vital for maintaining health and prolonging longevity. He could point out his age as a prime example of proof to all those 21st century physicians' advice. He'd made it over nine hundred years, now hadn't he?

She decided she'd have to go along with his mad plan, try again at trusting him a little. They were both still cautious after the night before. A night when things had come to a head and they'd both said things they still regretted. But they'd gotten some things out in the open, what with the way they'd both sorta come unglued a bit. 

 

 

She'd gone to bed around midnight, deciding she'd waited well past the five and a half hours since he'd only gone out for chips. It had been an evening of hell, with her nervously checking the little radio he'd found in pieces in a rubbish tip and repaired. There'd not been any news alerts about him being captured, but that wasn't much consolation. Especially since he wasn't so good with the whole 'keeping a low profile' thing. After she'd given up waiting she'd lain down on the lumpy little cot that had come with the apartment, thinking fondly of her bed back at the mansion and missing her family. It had been different when she'd been on the TARDIS, or even jumping dimensions. Then, she'd had the comfort of knowing she could pop in for a visit any time – unlike now. 

She was starting to begin understanding the Time Lord's decision to leave her here with the other him, but that didn't make it any less painful. She wondered how her mother was handling all this chaos, if she'd tried taking over Torchwood in an attempt to take on Ferguson and his masters yet, and how Pete was managing to talk her down from doing anything drastic. Not that Pete had even been able to keep her mum from following her through the Dimension Cannon, only insisting she at least go with Mickey and learn the proper use of the laser cannon she'd taken with her. She wondered what Tony was doing, if he'd made any more drawings to show her, or made new friends at play group, or talked Pete into getting that puppy he'd wanted. 

She hadn't even realized she'd drifted off to sleep until she was awakened by a heavy bundle of giggling Time Lord hybrid that stank of hops and barley. He was in danger of collapsing the rickety cot that should've gone to the junk heap twenty years ago, but was the only bed that would fit in the glorified closet that was the bedroom to this flat. 

"Get off," she mumbled blearily, giving him a push. There was a thump as he landed on the floor, a muffled ouch, and more giggles. _Great._ He was drunk again, and here he was waking her up and getting handsy while he was at it, and she was certainly awake now. And none too happy, either. She was nearly at the end of her limit and he was pushing it. She wasn't sure how much more of his confusing signals she could take. "What the hell are you doing?" she snapped at him, watching him unsteadily get up. 

"Just getting back from the pub, Rose. You should have come, it was a blast!" he said, beaming. 

"I'll give you a blast. What happened to the chips?" she said, sitting up. 

"Ooh, knew I missed something. Sorry about that. But I did bring back some schnapps – it's banana flavored!" he chirped, pulling a bottle out of his coat. Seeing her expression, he drew back a little. "You're cross with me, aren't you?"

"Grr, you're an idiot! What the bloody hell gave you that idea? Maybe it's because you've not been sober once in three days..." she began, feeling her anger rising. 

"Oi, I was too! I was totally uninebriated seventeen hours and 56 minutes ago..." he interrupted, his good mood starting to evaporate quickly.

"Maybe, if you'd just think for once, you'd see you're not the only one stuck in this hell hole flat, but you don't see me out turning into a lush!" she returned. "I don't like it here any better than you do, and you're the shambles!"

"Damn it, I'm trying, Rose! I told you I don't do domestic!" he growled, putting the bottle aside on the dresser that was already leaning ominously. 

"Obviously not, you don't even do relationships, either," she retorted.

"What? I do... I stayed, didn't I?" He was leaning towards her, face flushed and his hair hanging in his eyes, since he barely even bothered with it anymore. "I thought I did fine... even said the words on the beach, gave you time, asked you twice the first time we met. Never invited anyone more'n once, I didn't. Even added that it traveled in time, as well."

She rolled her eyes at that. "Probably your idea of a pickup line, too," she said bitterly. 

"It worked, didn't it?" he growled back, looking rather smug despite his obvious temper. "Didn't see you complaining then."

"That was when I was nineteen, with nothing else to look for in life. Not when I'm twenty six and I've given up my job, my family and everything else and you're being a complete arse, on top of it all."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry I'm not the one with two hearts and whose TARDIS is ready to go! I'm sorry I kissed you back on that bloody beach and trapped you here. I'm sorry I didn't take your memories when I told you to forget me back when first I met you. You'd have been better off without me, either of me," he yelled, starting to pant slightly, breath ragged.

Her tears were threatening to fall as she watched him, uncertain how much they were from anger or remorse. "What about us, then? You promised me your forever, you said you loved me. Was that just a lie, then?" 

He deflated at that, obviously hurt. "No, it was not. I love you more than you'll ever understand, it's just... oh, Rassilon! Forget calling myself the Doctor, should've chosen the name the Wanker, or the Bumbling Idiot, or just stuck with Theta Sigma. All of time and space and all I did was make everything more complicated. Even the simple things. Should've called myself the Government, and left it at that. I'm sorry if I'm a sodding idiot, I just... don't have any clue what the hell I'm doing."

"Yeah? Well, neither do I! You're a bunch of mixed messages, you've been running from anything that hints at responsibility, and you've only come near me now when you're all liquored up! You can't just start grabbing me when you're all loaded up and smelling like a brewery!" she grated, her temper cooling as she saw how sorry he really was. Was this him trying to let her down gently, to tell her he was pushing her away?

"I'm sorry, I'm just scared. I thought I knew what I was doing, but I don't. I've no clue at all. I don't know how to do all these silly human courtship rituals. I'm a Time Lord, we had arranged marriages and didn't trifle with matters of the heart. I kinda ran out of my own know how after the running and you getting on the TARDIS. That, and all my courage fled."

"Then that kiss on the beach and the one in the Archives?" she asked, anger simmering down to more of an amused annoyance. He was more open about feelings than the other version of him, but only when his back was against the wall. "I think you'll find that you actually kissed me," he said, managing a smirk. 

"You weren't exactly an unwilling participant," she reminded him. 

"Nope," he replied. "That was just brilliant." Getting serious again, he sighed. "I never... I'm not used to this. The staying part. I've always ended up running. Coward, every time. Truth is, I'm scared. Absolutely petrified. You're you, my brilliant pink and yellow human and I'm just an old, broken soldier. I've seen horrors you couldn't even imagine, some of them my fault. Every time I see you, I just.... I'm not worth it. You're too good for the likes of me. I don't deserve you, Rose. Never have. And I..."

"You aren't threatening to leave me, are you?" she managed, a sob threatening to break. 

"No, never. I just... don't know what comes after the hand holding part," he said, looking desperate. "I don't know what I'm doing, I don't even know how I'm going to handle these Elder Gods, much less how to be... this. I don't know what to do, Rose, and that's the simple truth."

All through his confession, she was listening. She could understand the not knowing what to do, or what was coming next. She'd been feeling and wondering the same since the beginning. Some of what he'd said explained a lot, since she could see he doubted himself as much as she'd wondered what she'd done wrong. "Is that why he left me here, then?" she asked, unsure how much truth he was willing to give, but willing to push. 

He sighed, stepping back to lean against the wall, pulling one knee up in an obvious attempt to make himself smaller. He was silent for a moment, closing his eyes and looking like he was going to shut down again, but surprisingly spoke. His voice was almost raw. "In a way, it was because you scare us. We'd do anything for you. Died for you, even. Took the Vortex in to save you. When he realized in that vault, with Davros showing him the lives laid down in his name, he saw what he was capable of. He'd have torn the universes asunder if you'd asked him at that point and he knew. He had to let you go, before he did something unspeakable."

"And you? You said you're him," she challenged. _Literally as well as figuratively_ , she mused, watching the play of different emotions across his face. _Let's see how much he'll really say for once, what he'll actually admit._

"I am, but I've not got the power I had then. I've been stripped down to the barest essentials: memory, personality, appearance – and none of the power I once had. Yeah, I'd tear the universes apart for you, but it would take a lot more than just meddling with a fixed point or stopping time. Probably require at least a bobby pin, a lot of sem-tex and that Dimension Can–"

"Don't," she said, because she couldn't bear the thought of him even thinking of doing that and the thought of the other Doctor that desperate and reckless. Even if it was probably the most horrifyingly scary declaration of love she'd ever heard. _Couldn't just do chocolates and flowers, can you,_ she thought sarcastically. She sighed. "Is it just you, or is he just as useless?"

He shrugged, sagging slightly, foot coming back down slowly as he shifted his balance to remain upright. He was obviously still drunk, even if he was sobering quickly. "Yeah, I suppose. Not very practical, that's me. No sense at all. Even my own people thought so, not that it didn't stop them from using me to do the one thing no one else had the bollocks to do and end the war before it spread any further. Been a bit worse since then, I'll admit. I'd have been dead long ago if it wasn't for you. You gave me something worth fighting for, something to live for, both of me. That's what'll keep him going, knowing you're here, with me. If we can manage the whole 'together' bit without imploding."

"Imploding, like from you actually _'dancing'_?" she asked pointedly, sarcasm heavy in her tone.

He made a low sound of bitter amusement. "Haven't hardly found my way to the floor, much less located my feet or found the courage to even ask the DJ for the right music. I'm a mess, and I'm sorry. All I can promise is I'll stay, if you want, and I'll at least try."

"Come on then, let's get you to bed so you can sober up. We can share the bed, if you can keep your hands to yourself and promise you will stop the drinking and talk to me," she said after a minute that seemed to stretch forever. She was willing to accept he was who he said, she was willing to try for this, but she wasn't going to let him destroy himself in front of her. "I've long outgrown finding being fondled by drunks attractive."

"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled, just relieved she hadn't tossed him out on his ear. He knew he'd been messing around too much, trying to smother his insecurities and everything else that was threatening to overwhelm him. _Time to get your arse in gear, old lad. The lady is not happy with your nonsense and it's time to get around to dealing with those blighters out there so I can get on with bollixing something else up. As it should be, because when have I not caused a disaster wherever I went, no matter my intentions, he thought. Maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll figure women out, this one in particular and I can change enough to make her happy again. I owe her that much._

He was quite the gentleman, in fact; though mostly because he'd been asleep from pretty much the moment his head hit the pillow. She briefly debated about taking the sofa, but remembered none too fondly the springs that threatened the health and function of her kidneys, along with the alignment of her back. With a shrug and an optimistic hope that the cot frame would hold so she wouldn't be rudely awakened in the wreckage of its collapse, she carefully maneuvered herself to lie next to the Doctor. She was glad he was so damn skinny for once. 

In the morning, she awoke to the bed having miraculously held together, and a pair of brown eyes blinking at her in shy curiosity. All signs of the night before's revels vanished with no signs of a hangover, either. Especially when he gave her a blinding smile when he saw she was awake. "Hello, sleepyhead," the Doctor said, sounding way too cheerful for this hour of the morning. 

Rose made a grunt of acknowledgement, before trying to pull the thin cotton blanket over her head. She was not ready to deal with the world yet, not when it was barely after sunrise judging from the light struggling through the window. Least of all was she ready to deal with his quirky shifting moods, even if he sounded like Mary Poppins on a sugar binge at the moment. 

"Come on, Rose! Rise and shine, a new day awaits!" he said, bouncing up in a way that almost hastened the demise of the cot. 

"Who bloody cares," she mumbled, wishing he'd give up, go downstairs, and start bothering Edgar instead. 

"Come on, don't be a spoil sport. We've got plans for today," he replied, sounding disgustingly happy for this unmentionable hour. 

"You've got plans, you mean. Nothing that can't wait until it's not the arse-crack of dawn, you git," she complained as he pulled the blanket off her, revealing that he was, indeed, that aggravatingly excited about something. "Go away," she added, trying to grab the covers back.

"Nope," he said teasingly. "We've got plans that involve subterfuge. We'll both have to look the part, too. Time to get ready."

"The hell..." she groaned, seeing he was not about to let up any. 

"Come on, all will be revealed in due time," he called over his shoulder as he left the room, still trailing the blanket after him. 

"That's what I'm afraid of," she sighed to an empty room, shaking her head as she heard the sounds of him fussing with the kettle. At least there'd be tea, and the small possibility of him getting sidetracked onto some other daft idea. When she'd said he needed to get going on finding a way to end this mess, she hadn't meant this early of a start. 

 

 

 

The streets of London were a mess. All around the city, bikers had started to converge in what seemed like an impromptu gathering. The Met and City Police had already maxed out their capabilities at holding the masses back. They'd just get one group herded off so they weren't obstructing traffic and break up one set of brawls when the next call would come in from another area. They'd almost been to the point of calling in the military for assistance, with the threat of riots looming around Wapping and Spittalfields and the crowds getting thicker by the hour. It was currently unknown what had set the whole thing in motion, since even SOCA had had no idea about any major planned rides or bikers' meets for atleast another month. 

"Must be the sudden spate of decent weather driving them out," was the only suggestion offered as to the cause. "Cabin fever happens to the best of us, I'd imagine."

Even as the city was grinding to a halt and Torchwood's agents were kitting up to lend assistance with an invasion of a sort they didn't normally deal with, Pete Tyler was riding up in the lift to his office. He had several important calls he was expecting, liaison for his agency's end of the operations to deal with the crisis. He almost imagined he could hear the racket of sirens, police shouting through loudspeakers and the rumble of motorcycles, despite the distance from the street and the building's walls. The last thing he expected was the lift to suddenly ground to a halt. He tried raising maintenance on the intercom when the service hatch at the top of the cab popped open. He quickly moved into the opposite corner, reaching for his sidearm as several pairs of booted feet appeared. The two men quickly sorted themselves and Pete found himself surrounded by two very large, hulking men in leather that were big enough that his pistol wasn't that much of a comfort. 

"May I help you, gentlemen?" he said calmly, thinking he'd faced worse, even if Cybermen didn't possess the barely restrained rage like the two brutes in front of him. Receiving a mere grunt in reply, Pete was starting to think this was probably the most elaborate assassination plan in all of history when another figure dropped down into the lift. 

"Down boys, no need to go looming over the chap, he's a friend and he's probably pissing in his boots by now. Hiya, Pete Tyler!" the Doctor chirped. 

Pete barely recognized him, the watch cap pulled low over his ears, a good start of a beard showing and the whole leather and boots combo he was wearing. "Didn't know you for a minute, there," he said, forcing himself to relax, holstering his weapon even as the two bikers parted to let the Doctor through. "Where's Rose and who are your friends?"

"This is Jasper and his brother Percy, though he prefers 'Killer'. Can't blame him – Percy is a naff name for the likes of him, since he imagines he's gonna turn the Hells Angels of Britain into the rip roaring terror of the western world, despite that I've told him how very rude it is to go about scaring people and all that. And as for Rose," he said, suddenly looking up at the sound of a thump on top of the cab, "there she is now. We had a spot of trouble sorting out Crispin's repelling gear from the army. They rig everything backwards, you know. Very inconvenient, that. Too bad you lot haven't gone with the universal standard, yet. Who knows, I might just speed up the advances instead of waiting another half dozen odd centuries for their natural progression."

Rose jumped down through the hatch, a kerchief on her head covering her hair and dressed in a similar, if more feminine version of the outfits the others were wearing. Pete greeted his adopted daughter with as much enthusiasm as he could muster in that tiny lift. He had the distinct feeling that anything smaller than a football pitch would feel crowded with Jasper and Percy in it, especially with the Doctor already pulling more gear through the hatch and throwing empty rucksacks over to his friends with enthusiasm. "Not that I'm not glad to see you two are safe, but what the hell is this? Couldn't you just have found a phone and rung us up like normal people would?" Pete asked, wondering what was going on.

"No can do, Pete. They've got wiretaps up on all your phone lines. They'd be figuring out our location in minutes," the Doctor replied, handing a bag to Rose as well. 

"And they won't notice you in the building?" Pete questioned, fearing he might have already figured out the answer to that. 

Rose laughed, finally seeing the cleverness of the plan, even if it was a little mad. "With all that going on outside, Dad? Not likely."

"Not likely indeed," Pete sighed. "How much of this did you two start?" Seeing Rose's answering grin, the Doctor looking smug and the two Hells Angels looking content, he said, "Nevermind, don't answer that. I really, really don't want to know. Just please, when your mother finds out, leave me out of this. Now, what's your plan?"

"Simple diversion tactic, there. As for us, oh, just a spot of spying, snooping and a bit of a raid on your archives and the equipment storage," the Doctor said calmly. "Don't worry, we'll be out of here within the hour."

"Why is it, Doctor, that your explanations worry me more than just being left in the dark to wonder?" Pete complained. "No, don't answer that, either. That was a rhetorical question," he added when the Doctor opened his mouth to protest and Rose was just smiling knowingly. "So where do we start? I suppose it was you who disabled the lift and the intercom systems?"

"Yeah, I'll get that all sorted out. It'll be fixed in a jiff," the Doctor replied, going over to the service panel on the wall below the controls and popping it open. A quick moment of him poking around and a suspicious whirring notice and he straightened. Turning to smile at them all, he said, "Anyone up for a trip to the basement? We've got a date with the Archives and let no man – or woman, sorry, Rose – wait. Allons-y!" just as he dramatically slammed the button to get them moving again. 

Rose couldn't help but smile. As confusing as he could be, the Doctor had always been at his best in the middle of complete chaos. The whole way here, dodging police barricades and riot squads, he'd been grinning like a loon. Like he was now. She was still amazed how fast he'd made a complete turnaround, even if it still kinda felt like they were both faking it a little. If they kept it up, maybe eventually it would be true.


	20. Chapter 20

20

Flirting with disaster.....

Rose was watching him the whole way down in Torchwood's lift. He'd had that manic grin plastered on, the one he used to cover a galaxy of hurt and doubts. Seeing any version of him hiding his pain was familiar, but not the lack of confidence. At least the veneer of excitement that traces his every movement and expression is real. He's just as worried about this going pear-shaped as she was and Pete's just along for the ride at the moment. She was glad for her experience from traveling with the Doctor before and her training with Torchwood that refined her skills and allowed her to answer Pete's few hushed questions while focusing on the Doctor. Of all the outcomes she'd imagined while jumping dimensions looking for him, the one she'd never considered was her helping him find himself. She'd seen so much out there, it was still hard to imagine. 

From the first test run with the Cannon, where they'd only managed to send a video signal through with no idea where or when or even which universe it had gone to. To the parallel worlds, some which were far worse in ways than the alternate timeline around the other Donna Noble. The one where the Nazis had won, and had conquered most of the earth, leaving most of the world a bombed out wreckage between the death camps scattered about. The one where the Daleks had taken over England after fooling Churchill into taking their assistance in the war before they took over and wiped out all on earth that wasn't Dalek-kind. 

Finally, they'd got the coordinates right to their universe, but not the right year. The first time, landing in an alley in an unfamiliar American city. Hearing gunshots, she'd pulled her weapon and ran towards the sound, only to be too late. She'd held a small man in a wool waistcoat with question marks on it, comforting him and encouraging him to live, even as he lay dying. His face was one she'd never seen before, but his eyes – she knew those eyes. She'd talked to him, words carefully crafted to not betray her identity while he lay there bleeding, until the paramedics pushed her out of the way. Her questions of where they were taking him were ignored. Apparently, there was a gang war on and they didn't want to be in the war zone any longer than necessary. Before she could even think to find a telephone directory to look up hospitals in the area, Control had brought her back. They'd sent her right back once she said she thought she had found the Doctor, this time showing up in a park. Judging from the size of the mobile the prat who propositioned her carried, it was the mid to late 90's. Rose had checked her location using the telephone directory she did find this time, bemused that San Francisco was one of the few places she didn't have any navigational maps for. She definitely knew the timing was way off when she'd once again seen him. The Doctor, but not one she knew. This time, dressed like the man in that old movie she used to watch with her mother on the Estate when she was so much younger. Wuthering Heights, she thought, or something like that. Heathcliff, the character's name might've been. But Heathcliff this was not, for all his Byronic glory. He'd bid her "good evening, my lady," with gentle eyes and chestnut curls and an innocence she'd never seen in her Doctor, ever. Never would again, either. This one didn't know her, and the juxtaposition between his personality and the first Doctor she'd known was jarring. Painfully so, since she realized then how much the war he'd spoken of so rarely had changed him. 

The next jump, at least she recognized him on sight, but managed to keep him from seeing her. She knew about timelines and recognized the city square she was in, along with the sleek black lines of the convertible with an American President and his wife with the throngs of people cheering and waving. In the midst of that, the Doctor, wearing that familiar leather coat despite the temperature and his blue eyes focused on a brick building across the street, standing as if he belonged there, ever the man outside of time. The infamous book depository was across the street. She hadn't been surprised to find him there, after seeing the photographs Clive had had in his shed, so long ago, just at the irony of being there then. She had recognized the intense stare, the shadows under his eyes and the tense body language in the part human Doctor who was now watching the floor numbers on the lift's display flickering by, like the fate of all mankind depended on them. She'd been horrified back then, seeing the play of emotions on her first Doctor's face as he so obviously considered stepping in front of the bullets meant for John F. Kennedy. He had been so willing to spare a life cut short to end his own. Fixed points in time and tearing reality apart be damned. Her heart had only resumed hammering in her chest when she saw the moment of temptation pass, but had broke when she saw the bitterness and disappointment on that rugged face she'd loved since "run". Only the threat of changing the past had stopped her from going to him to comfort him, to tell him things would get better one day.

The next jumps had gotten her closer, finally culminating in the now. The now where she was watching the lift doors open, the Doctor bounding out, pulling her along by the hand, and so much up against them it worried her for once. The now with a man so similar but different to the ones she'd known before. The words by Nietzsche she'd read when she'd gone back to school to advance herself after Bad Wolf Bay the first time around stuck in her mind as she'd thought about him over the last three weeks. At times he seemed like he was teetering on the edge of the abyss, and already considered himself one of the monsters. Now she saw that maybe the cruelest thing to happen on the beach wasn't her own still painful abandonment, but the Time Lord branding his more human self with the sin of genocide. If she could go back now, she'd slap him into his next regeneration for planting the seeds of doubt in his duplicate. Watching the way he looked at her for reassurance before sonicing the lock on the Archives – to Pete's utter dismay that their security was so easily circumvented – she knew those words haunted him as much as the separation from the TARDIS and the change in species had. If anyone was really to blame for his condition, his own insecurities and self hatred had dealt a double blow. He'd gotten it from his own self-conscious and thrown in his face by the one who was just as much himself. In her more angry moments, she wondered if the Time Lord had only thrown those words out as a self directed vitriolic condemnation, for had he not once said he'd attempted the very same? He'd said he'd destroyed his world to stop the Daleks – in what way was this any different? 

Either way, the Time Lord had left her with a mess, this Doctor was already causing havoc in all meanings of that term, since Pete had mentioned reports of riots all over Greater London, including Brixton. It hadn't happened until now in this universe, but between the racial tensions, the added police patrols looking for them and the inspiration from the bikers doing the same, history was repeating itself in a way. _There goes our self satisfaction on having a more stable, integrated, advanced society than the world I was born in_ , she thought with dismay. _I'm not telling the Doctor, because that'll be more deaths he'll be blaming himself for. Too much more and he'll have the medieval penitents' hair shirt on to go with everything else._

 

 

 

"Ok, boys and girls, time to start stuffing the goodies I throw at you in the bags," the Doctor said, looking happy as he started raiding the Archives he'd been organizing a mere fortnight before. 

"Doctor-" Pete started to protest when the Doctor added what were obviously weapons to the pile. Weapons they'd not managed to get working, but a gun was a gun was a gun, wasn't it?

"Don't worry, they're all nonlethal. Haven't changed that much," he replied, not even bothering to slow his strangely rhythmic coursing through the aisles between shelves. 

Rose was busy filling the knapsacks, only speaking up to suggest they also raid the spare equipment lockers, also in the basement, for armored vests and other protective gear. 

"Are you starting your own army?" Pete spluttered, watching Jasper and Percy carrying more alien tech than he really felt comfortable with, knowing these were mere civilians. "I've met at least one other of your crew and I have to say, Wilfred Mott may have plenty of courage and spirit, but he's rather elderly for raiding MI5's HQ."

The Doctor let out a high pitched giggle fraught with the only overt indication to the state of his nerves. "I'm not sending pensioners into a war zone. Bloody hell, how much of a complete madman do you think I am? They're just the volunteer spy network," the Doctor said roughly, peering through a shelving unit to glare at Pete. He was obviously rattled, showing that he'd been just as concerned about the dangers of Wilf's efforts on their behalf. 

"Don't worry, Dad," Rose said in an undertone not meant to carry. "He knows what he's doing. Just let him be." They were words with more confidence than she felt, because she was watching the cracks in the mask widen. That laugh had been closer than she liked to an insane cackle. She was just praying that the gaps wouldn't give way to leave him shattered. Forget the threat of it happening in the worst time possible, because she wasn't sure anyone would be able to pick up the pieces. _I'm not sure if watching you fall apart won't make me do the same,_ she thought, pleading for a reprieve from any listening deities. _And who'll pick us both up if we do crumble?_

Pete was beginning to wonder why his comm unit had been so silent and why none of the security personnel had come looking for him, since he'd probably missed several important calls already. He knew if the Doctor, Rose and the hulking bikers had successfully breached the building without pursuit, conditions in the area outside of Canary Wharf had to have deteriorated more. "Let me call in Jake and the others, at least," Pete implored. "They're Rose's team and they've been briefed on the real situation. They could serve as backup."

Rose brightened at that, disappointed when the Doctor shook his head in firm negation. "They'd be good help," she mused, open to the idea.

"No, Rose. Not with what we're walking into. I'll not be putting any more lives on my conscience. Edgar's lads aren't even going in further than they have to," he said softly. He gave her a look pleading for understanding, telling her without words how desperate he was. 

While she appreciated the honesty of it, she dreaded the full implications. He had visibly started to harden himself when he'd pulled the rappelling harness over his torso, smirking and saying, "A bit like Krop Tor, aye? Minus the Devil, the orange spacesuit and at least I can see the top of the lift from here, so I know how far I'm dropping. Remember, I believe in you, Rose." He'd kissed her, then. Initiating for only the second time, before he'd pushed off and dropped the 15 meters to the stopped lift below. 

Since then, he'd been disassociating himself, stifling all emotion as he steeled himself for carrying through this daft plan. Whether he'd seen something coming, or if it was just his own optimism failing against the staggering reality of what they were doing, she didn't know. It scared her either way. If this went pear-shaped, he'd never get over it, and if anyone died, there'd be hell to pay. She'd seen what happened when someone refused the Doctor's one chance to reform. This time around, she wasn't sure what mercy he'd have. If anything happened to her – well that didn't bear thinking about. He'd be totally merciless, and it would push him over the edge. The reminder of Krop Tor and the Beast's words chilled her. 

"Sorry, Pete. Your people would do well to stay out of this, plus I've jammed all the frequencies in or around this building. There'll be no calling anyone," the Doctor added. "Didn't want anyone under the spell of the Old Ones that happened to be here calling in reinforcements."

Pete nodded, reluctantly admitting it was a good idea, even if he was rattled at the way this whole thing had been thoroughly planned so far as he could tell. He gave Rose a look, one that told her there would eventually be a lot of explaining to do. 

They were soon loaded down with plenty of gear, protective vests, even the helmets with visors that were normally only worn on dimension jumps back when Torchwood was still chasing down the remaining Cybermen. It was weird seeing the Doctor with one of those heavy armored jackets pulled on over his t-shirt; stranger yet to have him ask if she'd remembered to wear the one they'd smuggled out of here before. When she'd imagined being back with him, she'd always seen him wearing the usual suit and trainers combo – not like he was now. The whole leather mixed with riot gear and heavy boots combo was still hard to get used to. 

When they left the Archives, he'd relocked the door, just as he did with the equipment lockers. Pete had been just as surprised, but the Doctor only said, "Doesn't do to just leave it open. Can't say I'm not being considerate, at least." That made Rose raise her eyebrows, wondering when he'd decided to bother with manners, but quickly dismissed the thought as they were soon hurrying down the corridor. 

They were almost back to the lift when they heard a door slamming. The sound came from one of the other hallways, leading to the stairwell beyond. Without pausing, the Doctor pushed Rose into the lift, telling Jasper to get her out of there. Pete made to follow the Doctor as he moved back toward the corner where the two corridors intersected.

"No, go back," the Doctor hissed. "Keep Rose safe."

"Who is it?" Pete whispered back, even as they heard something banging against the walls and heavy footsteps. The Doctor just gave him an exasperated look just before he motioned to Percy. 

"Sorry, guv'nor," Percy rumbled in a voice that reminded Pete of a lorry with a flat tyre going over rocks. Trying to resist was futile, as the much larger man jostled him back to the lift. "Got to do what the boss man says. He said no one was to get themselves killed for his sake if he said you was all to clear off."

Rose wasn't giving Jasper an easy time either, to the point he'd threatened to carry her bodily up through the hatch they'd come through not even twenty minutes before. 

"Jasper, please. I can't... we can't just leave him here," she protested, as Jasper was already putting the harness around her, the clevases already attached to the cable descending from the shaft above. 

"Sorry, miss, he said you was to stay safe. More'n anything else, you weren't to get hurt," Jasper apologized, even as she was trying to get past him.

There was a blueish glow from the other corridor, growing brighter, even as the Doctor pulled himself straight before yelling back, "Get them out of here and close those doors!"

Pete had decided to err on the side of caution and help get Rose out of danger, slamming the button to close the lift doors when he was shoved through the door by Percy. He muttered a bitter word as the doors started to close and jammed partway. It was just enough so the sensors on the lift wouldn't engage the motors to get them to a different floor. "Doctor, it's stuck," he growled in frustration, kicking at the side panel. 

"Well, unstick it," the Doctor called back, as the cracking sound of an unnatural energy approaching could be heard. He threw the sonic screwdriver over his shoulder blindly, saying, "Setting 34c," even as he pulled the helmet from under his arm and put it on over the watch cap. Percy reached through the gap in the doors, grabbing the sonic and looked at it in consternation, having no idea how to use it. 

Rose sighed, not liking this whole situation and held out a hand. "Give it here," she said, reluctantly knowing there probably wasn't any other choice. 

"You promise you won't..." Percy said doubtfully, even as Jasper was gaping through the doors and Pete yelled, "Just give it to her, mate. No one else in here knows how to use the bloody thing and there's no time to muck about. Whatever that thing is, it's here."

They all stopped to look as a figure wreathed in blue fire stepped out to stand before the Doctor, the energy around in it seeming to reach for him as it arced around the ceiling, walls and floor, leaving char marks as it approached. Rose adjusted the settings on the sonic, only to have nothing happen. 

"Bloody hell," Jasper murmured as Percy only looked amazed. Pete was realizing with horror that this was definitely something Torchwood had never handled before. 

Rose was reminded somewhat of the Gelth when she heard the creature's voice, as it came out of the man in the center of the glow. "That's not Ferguson," she said flatly, watching the tableau before them. The sonic wasn't anymore successful on her next attempt, even as she yelled, "Doctor, get the hell out of there! You have to come with us, please!"

 

 

He could faintly hear Rose and the others behind him, but it barely registered. His attention was on the former person that stood less than 4 meters away, watching in horrified fascination as it spread its arms, head falling back, and mouth opening to let the creature inside start to emerge.   
It was a shapeless glowing form, swirling masses of blue light showing glimpses of the distorted reality within. "We see you, Time Lord," it intoned, even as he recognized the slack features of Robinson that the being had stolen as its form. 

"I see you lot crawled back out of hell, where you belong. Though, I imagine the Void is a lot less hospitable than you'd like. Which one are you, then?" the Doctor asked, pulling up the visor on the helmet. He'd only put it on because of the built in resistance to electrical energy. Getting the life zapped out of him was not on his agenda, not with the way those bolts of energy were flying around. He remembered dealing with the Old Ones' servants before. This time around was slightly different than before. 

The entity attempted to pull itself into a form, the shape quickly falling apart, even as it spoke, "We knew this place once before, we were revered for our power... and you – you are wrong. You are what we remember, but not..."

The Doctor smiled a tight smile as he watched the entity trying to identify him, seeing the hint of shape that was enough to give him an idea as to the creature's identity. _Good luck, mate_ , he thought. _I'm not even sure what I am, really._ "Using the plural possessive form, I see. Bit cheeky and arrogant, that. And people always complain about me. At least I'm not going about using the royal 'We'. So which one are you? Gog, Magog, or Azathoth? Not Fenric, Cthulu or Hastur the Unspeakable, I'd know you."

"We are Cernunnos – those ignorant, frail mortals, they called us the horned god," the being intoned, the power seeming to crackle in the air around them.

"And still using human flesh to cloak yourselves, I see. Haven't gotten around to fixing yourselves either, have you?" the Doctor pressed, not intimidated enough to not needle it. "The Great Old Ones, forced to go about killing innocent humans to get around in – still missing your bodies, then?"

There was a heavy buzzing that filled the air, like bees attempting to laugh, as the ancient being settled back into the body that encapsulated it. "The flesh may be without the purity we deserve, but it will do under the circumstances."

"Look at you now, creeping about the earth, hiding yourself in mere humans, only getting back into reality through the cracks that were beyond your power to even make," he taunted, cocking his head to the side to watch what had formerly been Colin Robinson take a shambling step forward. "He was a total arse, you know, but you didn't have the right to kill him and take over his body."

 

 

 

Pete looked at Rose, not recognizing his former employee beyond, while she did. He'd heard the Doctor's explanation just weeks before, but hearing about it and seeing someone you knew turned into _this_ was something else entirely. This was not good, not good at all. At least with the Cybermen they weren't visually recognizable for what they'd been previously. He could hear the clear tones of the Doctor's voice, since sounds carried so well in the basement corridors. "What did you promise him then, hmm? I know you've not got the power to just take a person over outright. What kind of lure did you use? Wealth, fame, the old standby of everlasting dominion over humanity?" Pete heard, even as he watched the Doctor calmly pacing back and forth, seemingly unconcerned about the entity looming. "These little humans, so suggestible and it's so easy to pry through their mental defences, all because they haven't got any. Ever thought of trying something more difficult to take on? Nah, your type were always bullies. All that power and terrified of the only species that could stand against you. Hard to take down someone who's actually got defenses, isn't it?"

Pete was getting the beginning of a headache and he knew that the others were, too. "It's a psychic attack," he said softly. "Don't listen to whatever it's saying in your head. It's not real, it's all lies."

Rose had figured that out nearly as fast as Pete, but she was more concerned about the Doctor standing right near it. She could hear the entire thing as the entity tried tempting him to it's will. 

"You are not what you were – but we could make you that again. We could even make you more – you could be so much more than you ever were. You could have anything you have ever dreamed or desired," came the voice that seemed to bypass ears to whisper amidst thoughts instead. 

Firming her own resolution to remain herself as she felt something creeping around the edges of her consciousness, Rose almost cheered when the Doctor said, "Boring, boring, boring. You have no flipping idea how many times someone's tried that one. Try a little originality for once, Sonny Jim. Might get you a bit further in life. Oooh! I forgot, my bad. You don't have a life, so you have to go stealing other people's!" 

Rose could feel the heat of its rage even as the creature let out a hissing laugh. She looked at Pete, motioning towards the lift doors. "We have to get him out of here," she said, feeling the pressure in the air building. "Jasper-"

"If you insist, miss" he said doubtfully, deciding to go against his earlier orders since this was way beyond what they'd been told to expect. 

"Rose," Pete protested as Jasper and Percy started attempting to pry the doors open. "This isn't a good idea."

"And leaving him to face this alone is?" she retorted, even as the being known as Cernunnos, formerly Colin Robinson, reached a hand out to grab the Doctor. "It's going to kill him!"

 

 

The hand around his throat was tight, crushing and bruising, even as he stood to his full height to stare into the glowing blue eyes that were inches from his face. He'd never even seen it move, just felt the sudden shift in reality as the creature rearranged the physical world to move faster than even light could've. How could he have forgotten how tricky this lot could be? Old and thick, he was. _Blimey, this metacrisis stuff sure leaves a lot to be desired about the old synapses. Memory's getting a tad spotty._

"Got me in a tight spot, I'll admit," he managed around the hand that was slowly strangling him. "Bit unsporting of you, splitting the bonds between here and there. Folding space isn't fair."

"All is fair in love and war, we are told," Cernunnos said smugly, tightening it's grip slightly, the dead flesh cold. "Now you will kneel before us, you who are an abomination and an anomaly. Your mind is that of a Time Lord and the rest of you is an unholy mix of human and Gallifreyan."

"Unholy, ha! Pot, meet kettle. I've not been known to do what I'm told. Not like there's been any love involved in this whole mess, so I guess this must be war, then," he gasped as his airway was constricted more. 

Cernunnos raised its other hand and started to redouble its efforts to slowly suffocate the life out of the Doctor, not paying attention to the people trapped on the lift, or what the Doctor was doing with his hands. A grim rictus of triumph twisted the dead features that used to belong to the head of Torchwood's R&D division. As spots appeared and his vision started to go black, he remembered what he'd shoved into his belt behind his back. He hadn't expected it to come to this but now, with Rose, Pete, Jasper and Percy trapped behind him, he had little choice. Once Cernunnos had killed him, there'd be no one to stop it from getting to them. He'd exhausted his own mental shields to force it to focus on him, instead of going after the defenseless humans. Drawing down its strength so it wouldn't be able to jump into someone else, after. Even now, he thought, as consciousness started to fade along with strength, I might not survive this. _I'm sorry Rose, but at least I didn't give in to its temptations,_ he thought as he used the last of his strength to pull the trigger of the gun he pulled out. 

 

 

The shot rang loud in the hallway, even as Jasper and Percy managed to force the doors open, falling as momentum shifted to throw them off balance. Pete automatically reached for his sidearm, only to find it gone. _The sneaky little git,_ he thought, as he rushed to the two people on the floor ahead. Rose got there first, pulling the Doctor away from Robinson's body. She didn't know who the blood belonged to, and between the layers he was wearing and the amount of blood, she couldn't tell. Either way, his color was terrible and having a blueish tint to his lips didn't help. 

"Don't you do this to me," she started, even as he gasped for air and struggled to sit up. 

"Ow," he croaked, raising a shaky hand to feel his throat. 

"It'll bruise up good," Pete said gruffly, relieved more than he would show. "Anything else?" 

The Doctor shook his head, making an aborted gesture towards Robinson. 

"You shot him," Rose said flatly, watching his face for his reaction, hoping it was shock that caused his lack of apparent remorse. 

"Already... dead. Just didn't know it," he whispered painfully. 

Percy had already walked ahead to roll the body over, letting out a low whistle at the damage. Half the face was gone, unrecognizable now. "He's right. This one's been dead at least a day or more, judging from the smell. Worked in a slaughter house, I did. Some things your nose won't forget," the big man said, wrinkling his nose. 

Pete looked appalled. "I've had a dead man working here for a day and I didn't notice?"

"More a week," the Doctor wheezed, "Old Ones... preserve the flesh..."

"Shut it," Rose told the Doctor gently while giving Pete an apologetic look. "Talking isn't good for your throat."

Pete shook his head, disgusted at how out of touch he'd been with the goings on inside Torchwood. "Is this over then?" he asked, a note of hope creeping into his voice. 

The Doctor had finally gained his feet, even if he seemed unsteady at the moment. Leaning against Rose slightly, he shook his head. "No... more... just a foot soldier."

"Great," Pete said gruffly. He nodded then, remembering that they weren't likely to be the only ones to have heard the gunshot. He bent over and retrieved his gun from the floor, almost holstering it before offering it back to the Doctor. "I suppose you might want this back, then."

"Dad," Rose protested, horrified and hoping the Doctor wouldn't take it. She was relieved when he didn't, refusing with a slight wave. He was panting still, but didn't seem as broken as she'd feared he would be.

"Keep it," he told Pete softly, his voice recovered enough to be merely hoarse. "I just grabbed it in case you decided to do something stupid, like try getting in the way."

"Look, you have to get out of here," Pete said, hearing the sounds of running feet on the stairs beyond. "You're still wanted, and the security personnel are on their way. I'll cover for you. Go!"

"Right," the Doctor murmured, turning to go back to the lift before looking back once. "Thanks, Pete. We'll find the rest of them and get this finished. One way or the other, this will end. Soon."

Pete looked him in the eye, seeing the cold determination there. "Go quick, be safe," he said simply, watching them all pile back into the lift, Rose protesting when the Doctor made her go first. 

 

 

 

It had been good to see Rose and the Doctor, even if it had been under stressful circumstances. Pete wished he'd had more time to ask questions or even better, that his hope of this being over was real. Finding it was Colin Robinson, not that Agent Ferguson was a shock. It shook him, knowing someone he knew so well once had been taken over, possessed by that Cernunnos like that. Colin had been a friend of a sort once, before they'd both been caught up in work, life, and other distractions over the years. Colin to several disastrous marriages, he himself caught between his new family and everything else. They'd not really had time to even catch up since he'd organized Torchwood to root out the last of Lumic's abominations.

After this, Pete resolved, he would take better care to know what was going on inside Torchwood. Know the people better, find out what was happening before it all blew up like this. It could've been so much worse, he saw in hindsight. _But if it's not fixed, with all the dealings with aliens and the equipment available, it will be worse if I allow there to be a next time._

There had already been a report filed. The Met coming in to make an inquiry, before deciding it could be handled in house. The overwhelmed DI left quickly after calling the coroner to take the body away, ready to dismiss the whole thing as unknown alien involvement, since the events going on in the rest of the city were spiraling out of control. Pete knew it would not be long before Ferguson was back, sniffing around. He was surprised he hadn't already gotten there to demand answers, since Robinson was obviously tied up in whatever this whole mess was. Despite what the Doctor had said, he was calling Jake and the team in. This was a lot more complicated and dangerous than he'd been told before. Maybe it was the understatement of the year, but this was more than four people could handle. Even if the Doctor called in more bikers, at least the field team was trained for things like – well, nothing like this obviously. But at least Jake didn't cause riots when he went out on missions. Apparently, a rival biker gang had decided to jump in, feeling their influence threatened by the Hells Angels openly causing havoc. There were Outlaws and others getting into the act, starting fights, clashing with police and civilians alike, bringing more chaos in areas around London. There were already two deaths reported, and all Pete could hope was that Rose and the Doctor got back to wherever they'd been hiding safely. 

Pete thought fondly back to the days when life was much simpler. No alien entities possessing covert government agents and others; no rioting criminally violent, rival motorcycle clubs; and Rose at home safe, being the Vitex heiress and her mother not raising hell over all of this. Jackie hadn't been pleased that he hadn't had a better chance to talk to either of them, or that he hadn't been able to miraculously stop them from being pursued by rogue MI5 agents. _Those were the days,_ he thought sadly. 

 

 

Despite the thick pain in his neck, along with the hand shaped bruising, the Doctor couldn't help feeling elated. He'd lived! He'd made it! He'd stopped one of the bad guys! He was running hand in hand with Rose! They were running for their lives, smiling like fools with that "yay, we're alive" feeling, and it felt so good, so right. He'd even ignored the offer of being restored to being a full Time Lord again – even if that would've left him with more questions about his existence, if it hadn't just been a lie. 

If he could've saved Robinson, he would've, but the man had been long dead before he had pulled that trigger. No point wondering how long ago Cernunnos had climbed inside the man's head, whispering suggestions and ideas before crushing the personality inside that mind entirely. How long it had taken to wrest the last bits that had been Colin Robinson from the brain and body it had hijacked. He hoped Rose understood all this, that it was nothing like with Cassandra. The Old Ones didn't let their servants go, and that the one absolutely sure way to stop the entity from jumping was destroying the brain. 

"Was there any other choice?" she asked him as they got on the motorcycle, looking at him over his shoulder. She was searching for truth, and almost expected him to avoid her eyes. He swallowed painfully, looking at her and unable to hide his regret. "No." 

"How many more?" she asked, her heart heavy. 

"I don't know," he said softly, voice almost lost against the noises coming from beyond the small alley they'd stashed the bikes in. Jasper and Percy were to their left, Edgar sitting on his motorcycle by the end of the alley, watching for police and other bikers. "I just know that will have set Cernunnos back, losing one of its servants. It'll have to regain its strength, but there will be more. This is far from over."

"It's gone bloody mad out here," she yelled over the throaty roar as he kicked the engine to a start. She could hear the sirens and distant shouting over the sound of the engine. 

"I know! This part will all settle down before tonight," the Doctor yelled back, still wearing the helmet he'd grabbed from the basement. "Edgar has it all completely under control. Other than the other riots, the other biker gang and those few oddments. Don't worry, it'll all blow over."

She just shook her head, not going to argue, especially when she'd seen him wince at the strain on his throat from yelling. Or the fact that it sounded like Edgar didn't have control over much and the grim look she'd seen on Edgar's face when they'd run into the alley loaded down with knapsacks of gear spoke volumes. Things were going pear-shaped fast and it didn't look like anything was going to be easy.


	21. Chapter 21

21

One night to be confused......

They made it back to Hackney hours later, the Hells Angels slipping back into the shadows as they passed, Edgar having signalled the withdrawal. The fact that the Outlaws didn't do the same was hardly their fault, considering they hadn't even been invited. That was hardly an absolution, in Rose's opinion, as she was feeling very guilty after seeing the police barriers, looters, and their being chased for two miles through Shoreditch. They'd barely escaped, finally losing the panda car in a series of narrow interconnected alleys and lanes too small for the auto behind them. Percy had taken the lead, since he knew these back alleys the best, the whole thing vastly amusing to the big man. 

"Just like being a little puke again," he rumbled cheerfully when they pulled into Edgar's garage. "That's excitement, I tell you. Nothing like leading the coppers on a merry chase."

The Doctor took off his helmet as Rose stiffly got off the back of the motorcycle. He was even more disheveled than usual, hair sticking up in sweaty spikes. He almost reminded her of that bloke her mum liked listening to on the radio when she was a kid. The mischievous grin he gave her as he ran a hand over his hair, trying to put it back into a semblance of order, only made the resemblance stronger. 

"So, Billy, gonna go do a 'rebel yell' now?" she teased, shaking her legs individually to work the kinks out. 

He looked uncomprehending for a moment before his face brightened when he caught her reference. "Only if you'll do the whole 'white wedding' thingy," he returned, before he froze in shock. "I mean... that is... not that you'd want to. Way too soon, I'd say. Your mum would kill us, having to elope. We've not even gone on a date, unless you count the end of the world and chips, not that your mum would see it that way. Or you, for that. Bit naff, all the death and destruction and Edgar said you're supposed to take a girl someplace nice, and all... and by 'you' I mean 'me'..."

Edgar came to his rescue then, saying, "Get a move on. We'll be wanting these hogs inside before the rozzers come around looking for us. No sense in leaving it all out plain and simple. Get this all put up, then scatter. Let them go about trying to find us."

Rose was still smiling, amused at how fast the Doctor had gone from cool and collected to utterly babbling in a panic. Alien invasion, he was cool as a cucumber. Mention anything like a commitment or going any further with their relationship, and he was off and running on a whole stumbling rant. Still normal, for him. Flirt with the best of them, but on the chance it might be serious and he was more awkward than a drunk on a unicycle. 

"Don't worry – I'm not going to get Mum after you with a shotgun to haul you to the altar yet," she said as she helped him push the heavy motorcycle into the garage. "Not with you looking like that, at least."

"Oi! I'm considered to be quite attractive to the females of several species on most planets – other than the Cult of the Nameless Horrors. That lot prefers to stay all celibate. Good thing, too. You don't want to see what's under those vails. Really, you don't. It would scare anything, those mugs. Sexual attractiveness is punishable by death by dismemberment there – have to remember to avoid that planet. We'd both be executed," he said, carefully not looking at her. 

Rose laughed. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were flirting with me. Thank you for the compliment, I think," she said, rolling her eyes in amusement. He could be bloody confusing. She wasn't sure if that was one of his normal lectures on social habits on alien cultures, or him finally making a pass at her. 

"Heh, no wonder you keep a hat on," Jasper said, gratefully dispelling the sexual tension from the moment. It distracted the Doctor so she could think about what he'd said without him hurrying to retreat from saying anything too overt. All the mixed signals he was infamous for were back. She wondered how much was just relief from surviving being throttled by an immortal entity possessing the remains of their former boss and how much was something else. He must be in shock. All that trauma. Look how much it actually took to get him to say those three words. If it took a near death experience to get him back to flirting, was it going to take the possible destruction of half the earth to get him to go any further?

Not that either of them were in any shape at the moment to even do much of anything about it. He was looking like he was about to drop, and Rose was already thinking fond thoughts of that narrow little cot up in the flat. Also the redness around his throat was already darkening, promising an array of colors to appear later in some spectacular bruises. 

Rose managed to chivvy him towards the stairs to their flat, telling him they both needed a shower and rest. She was despairing of the tiny fridge in the crowded kitchenette as she hunted for something for them to eat. Normally, they would've had takeaway, but there was no chance of getting anything delivered with the state the streets were in. Calling Mr. Singh to bring something back from his curry shop wouldn't work, since they'd passed him in the stairwell as he was letting himself back into his own flat. Everything in the city was closing down from the riots, people fearing for their lives, even if the Hells Angels weren't involved anymore. They'd accidentally opened up a can of worms, one that wouldn't easily be closed. 

There was some chicken masala left over from two nights before and the cupboards revealed a lone bag of rice. Finding a dented pan just big enough for the water and the packet of rice, she set it to boil on the hob, just as the Doctor came out of the bathroom, wearing tracksuit bottoms and a towel wrapped around his shoulders as he dashed by, heading for the bedroom dresser. 

He was fixing his hair when he emerged, still barefoot and looking more comfortable with a t-shirt and hooded jumper on. She wasn't surprised, it was a bit chilly in the flat, with the heater being rather unreliable. Winter in this place would be hell. He didn't look any more revived from the shower, as he grabbed a banana and leaned against the counter near her. 

"I'm not really hungry, just a cup of tea would be nice," he said in a husky croak, trying to hide a wince as he filled the kettle. 

"That sore?" Rose asked, concerned at how bad his voice was sounding. He was usually gung-ho at the possibility of food, other than pears and her mother's cooking. 

He merely nodded, sparing his larynx and the rest of his throat. He wasn't sure if he could get anything beyond lukewarm tea down, the thought of swallowing anything causing him to blanch slightly. Also, he'd be likely to fall asleep in his plate long before he'd managed more than a few mouthfuls, no matter how much he'd rather stay up and keep Rose company. At least he had a valid reason to avoid talking about all this. 

He wasn't sure how his other self would've reacted to what he'd done. Yeah, the Time Lord had killed plenty, and he'd been protecting Rose and the others, so that much was justifiable. The gun, not so much. Second time he'd handled one since he'd found had two selves, this time with more success, even if he'd been less open about having it. He'd felt bad at the time, taking it from Pete when he passed out of the Archives. He'd had a feeling, a premonition, you could say, that he'd be needing it. He'd had that heightened awareness that always came in the middle of tight situations, just before everything went wonky. Letting things go wonky enough to put anyone, especially Rose, in further danger hadn't been a risk he was going to take. Maybe it was Donna's humanity influencing him, or the lack of a quick escape route without a ready TARDIS, but a slight change in method seemed called for. Harder to push for a diplomatic peaceful way of solving issues when he could feel the remaining seconds, minutes, and hours of his one life ticking by incessantly. Mortality added spice to things, as well as urgency.  
Rose watched him from the corner of her eye, noticing he seemed to have relaxed some since they'd left Torchwood. It was more than just him pretending, since he wasn't even avoiding eye contact and hadn't even tried intimidating Edgar when he'd teased him about his hair. Though, even Rose had to agree, the dye job didn't really work that well on him. 

She still wondered if his near takeover of the London chapter of the Hells Angels was sheer brilliance or an attempted suicide mission. He'd done it the same way he'd taken over in various situations. Walked in like he fully belonged and within minutes had taken a group that looked ready to turn him into a bloody pulp to having them ready to follow him anywhere. Even if Edgar was the one passing the word down through the ranks, the Doctor was the one calling the shots. He'd also been the one to suggest the enforcers would be better placed keeping the youth gangs from terrorizing the pensioners and keeping the riffraff out of the neighborhoods. 'Community relations,' he called it. Said people would be less likely to turn them all in to the coppers if they were a help.

And he'd done it all from the corner pub, so there had at least been some benefit to his weeks of almost nonexistent sobriety. Maybe there was something good to having a drunk Time Lord, but she wasn't about to admit that one. He was too erratic with it, more than he usually was. 

"So," she said as he settled on the lumpy sofa with his cup of tea. "You did it again." Her plate of food was perched on her knee. 

He gave her a look that plainly showed query, confusion, and the hint of terror. 

"You know what you did, you stubborn arse. Sending me off like that, having Jasper threaten to carry me away by force," she said, glaring and watching him seem to wilt slightly. 

His voice was barely more than a rough whisper. "Sorry," accompanied by a wince of pain. Hardly fair, was it, giving him a talking to when he could hardly defend himself. He watched her carefully to gauge how angry she really was, and if evasive measures would be necessary. He'd already calculated the odds that she wouldn't be likely to dump her chicken masala over – wouldn't want the sofa to look worse than it already did. Though he couldn't see how anything beyond the Mucus people from Rhinosi Twelve could really have much of an effect on the upholstery. Bloody hell, here he was, worrying over furniture. He'd be fussing over the color coordination of their interior decorating next, if he wasn't careful. Ye gods and little fishes, was he... no, couldn't be. Oh he was. She was turning him all proper and domestic and his throat was too sore to even complain about it, even if she was giving him that adorable look she'd had just before she'd snogged him 18 days, 4 hours, 27 minutes ago and 12 seconds ago. 

Rose saw him tense, obviously getting ready to run from the Oncoming dressing-down. She had to smile fondly at the look of trepidation on his face. "Oh you, still a right idiot. I'd get after you worse, but I'm more happy you're alive. Even if you're back to your old tricks again."

"Sorry?" he croaked again, thinking of a clever way out of this without having to talk anymore than he had to. There was an alternative method, guaranteed to distract her, but... oh what the hell. _In for a penny, in for a pound_ , he thought as he leaned forward and kissed her. 

Rose was too stunned to react for a moment, gathering her wits in time to kiss him back just as he pulled away. He had that manic grin and a self satisfied look as he raised an eyebrow. 

"'M really, really sorry," he said in a husky voice. Still got it, he thought. Still got the old mojo, even if I'm too bloody knackered to do anything more and we'd be risking death by either splinters or impalement by means of rickety cot-failure. What a way to go. The last of the Time Lords, done in by substandard furniture while finally getting around to 'dancing'. 

"Are you, then? How far does that apology go?" Rose asked coyly, recovering from the shock of him actually getting the bollocks to make a move beyond innuendo. 

"Just there, since the bed isn't an option, neither is the sofa with the threat of permanent kidney damage and as for the floor – well, I wouldn't want you to remember our first time with me falling asleep before we got very far," he whispered painfully while smothering a yawn. He still had a look of cautious hope on his face. 

Rose had to laugh ruefully. "It's alright. I'm too sore after riding about on that bloody motorcycle to get up to much of anything myself," she admitted, leaning against him. "We've got to get better transportation."

He put an arm around her shoulders, molding himself to lean against her, relaxing quickly. She was finishing the last few bites of her food, idly talking to him about her impressions of what they'd seen on the streets of London when she noticed he was awfully quiet. More quiet than a bruised neck would entail for him. 

Setting her plate aside, she looked up at his face. Sure enough, sound asleep with a slight smile on his face. He looked more peaceful than she'd ever seen him, the lines around his eyes smoothed away. She carefully extracted herself from under his arm, going into the bedroom for the duvet. Once she was back, she settled the blanket over them and snuggled back into his side. Yeah, they'd both be likely to regret sleeping on the wreckage known as the lounge sofa, but it was worth it. He was nearly impossible to wake up and she wasn't willing to let him out of her sight. Not with him almost getting killed in front of her. 

 

 

Six hours, forty seven minutes and twenty six seconds later, the silence woke him. Well, not silence per se, but it was a lot quieter than it usually was. Nerve-wrackingly so, and what was this leaning on him? Oh, Rose, he thought, smothering a contented chuckle. Blimey, his throat was sore. Couldn't try making too much noise. Wouldn't do to wake her. Just sit back and enjoy this. It was still hard to believe he'd almost done it. Almost taken the step that there would be no going back from. 

Did he dare? While it had been something he'd been stifling the urge to do for years, the same thing as always stopped him. She was too good for the likes of him. His fantastic, brilliant Rose. So brave, trying to protect him and save him from himself even now. He'd seen how she'd matured, grown more confident in her own inner strength and abilities. Even more reason why he shouldn't let her waste her time on bothering with him. 

It was the part that came after the realization that was his problem. As much as he knew she'd be better off, he couldn't bear even the thought of leaving her. Not that she'd even let him get away with it, since she inevitably came running back every time. Trying to explain how dangerous something was only seemed to strengthen her resolve. Ironic, that. What had made him fall in love with her was the same thing that drove him mad. 

Especially now, where he had the sinking feeling that a game of chess and a flask wouldn't help with Cernunnos. This one of the Old Gods was a lot more vicious than Fenric. The sort the ancient Celts had stuffed people into wicker cages shaped like men and burned alive as offerings. Humans, so bloody ignorant, and all too happy for an excuse to go killing the next door neighbors just because they could. Even if it was from some sod from beyond time itself urging them on. They could be so brilliant, so amazing, and so mind blowingly stupid at the same time. 

Not that that particular information would be much help tracking down old Cernunnos. The whole 7 meter high cage thingy burning with people inside would have caught somebody's attention, even in the middle of Piccadilly. Couldn't hide one of those anywhere – other than Brighton, maybe. Though, he'd know if Cernunnos had had that much strength. There'd be far more servants running about to have stretched itself all the way to London. Which meant for certain, its base was here. In the city itself. And he'd have to go hunting for it soon. 

After his neck was feeling better. Couldn't go giving an ultimatum written out on a piece of A4 because making much more than a whisper was too painful. He'd remember to stay back further. Out of the reach of those human servants. No hope for a peaceful resolution, obviously. _Looks like things are going to get really lively, round these parts,_ he thought. _Always love a good explosion, me. Almost as fun as little shops. Too bad you can't combine the two, though the snow globes and "I love New New York" shirts flying through the air would be a bit mad. Brought new meaning to "sales being through the roof", now didn't it?_

He had to smile at that, looking down at Rose's sleeping face, half wishing he could talk easier so he could wake her and share the joke. On second thought, she'd be bound to miss the humor and focus on the whole explosion part. Then she'd start worrying, not letting him out of her sight for even a moment. While it was fun having her along, even gave him the confidence to keep going just from seeing her smile, the whole "responsible behavior" thing really cramped his style. Really, if he had absolutely no other choice to save the whole bleeding planet, at least she could let him have some fun while he was at it. 

Okay, he'd learned his lesson. No trying to protect her by sending her off. Not that he could, since Jasper had said never again and did he know she kicked like a mule? He knew she was stubborn enough to make that particular equine look positively tractable, but still. Time to be clever. How to get the rest of the plan in motion without Rose putting the kibosh on it, while romancing the socks off her. He'd have to ask Mr Singh of the curry shop, twelve children and the delightful wife who hadn't binned him yet. Hope the dozen kids aren't required, he thought. I'd have to get really busy and they'd be bound to get underfoot in the new TARDIS. He hadn't even found out if he was genetically compatible, either. Maybe adoption would be an acceptable alternative if a dozen children are required. 

Wait, hadn't Habib Singh said theirs was an arranged marriage? Oh bollocks. He'd have to ask Edgar. Maisie seemed to put up with him. Why not ask him? Even if the man had an unfortunate preference in leather and tattoos, he wasn't all wrong. Rassilon, here he was on the marriage thing again. He'd promised her his forever, but blimey, that'd make Jackie Tyler his mum-in-law. Scary enough, yeah? If he had to, no other option, no other way out, he'd do it. For Rose, he'd do anything. He'd even wear the tuxedo of doom if he had to.

For now, he'd start with the little things that went with human courtship rituals. Shame he could remember how it went on hundreds of planets and several ancient cultures, but nothing about this century's. On top of that, he had a hunt for an ancient being from before this universe to hunt down and sort out before it spread any further and regathered its strength. _Oh, it was going to be a blast…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special kudos to anyone who actually notices and recognizes the song references in the chapter headers. ;-)


	22. Chapter 22

22

You ought to hear about the deal I'm making....

DIs Gail Evans and James O'Connor are the ones to get the call to a park off Buxton Street in Spittalfields. Turning off the B134, Gail parked the panda car carefully, feeling a reluctance to see this one. From what the preliminary report said, it was a bad one, and judging from the numbers of the crime scene unit's people on hand, the estimate wasn't wrong. Perhaps even worse than it had initially been stated. Neither she nor O'Connor were much for speaking, mentally preparing themselves for the horror they'd be soon seeing. The coroner's van hadn't even left yet. 

Jacobson met them by the barricades, looking grim, like seeing the crime scene had aged him. Not a comforting thing to notice. The gentle rain was atleast appropriate, Evans thought. Like the heavens themselves would weep at such a terrible thing to happen in such a mundane place. A place usually frequented by dog walkers and young families, not vicious murderers. 

"That bad?" O'Connor said simply, face tense. He wasn't fond of this latest run of unsolved and wasn't any more inured to seeing them, despite eight years in the homicide division. 

Jacobson just nodded, motioning them to follow. "Unknown number of assailants, but same methods used as our lad with the strange tools. Flayed completely and no blood on scene. Not a body dump, judging from the signs of struggle and scuff marks in the dirt and torn turf. Not a damned clue how the bastard's doing it, either," he said softly as they stood over the bodies. "No tracks, other than the victims'."

"But, that's impossible!" O'Connor protested.

"He couldn't have just flown in, sir," Gail added, finally daring to look at the scene. It was worse than she'd imagined. 

Three skinless people lay under a cluster of oaks fringing the area, limbs twisted in their final agony. Gail didn't know if it was the hands reaching out to one another in silent entreaties for help, or the fact that there were swings meant for children to play on less than twenty meters away that chilled her the most. They soon backed away, letting the Assistant Coroner and her lackeys bag up the remains and load them on trolleys, hiding the sight from the rest of the world. Some things were better left unseen, especially in a park children played in, Evans thought. She was glad to see the gurneys being loaded into the vans. 

"Patrol found them. They were still out looking for those outlaw motorcycle club members that started all the mess yesterday. Still haven't found a single Hells Angel, when all the witnesses say they were the ones who started it," Jacobson murmured, allaying Gail Evans first concern. They now were back by the kerb, still trying to push out the grim images in their minds. "Impossible, or not, it's what we've got, along with the disappearing bikers."

"Not one of them was apprehended?" O'Connor said in surprise. 

Shaking his head in negation, Jacobson said disgustedly, "We'll all end up with egg on our faces for this. First bikers running wild on the streets, causing havoc and rioting, now three people murdered in a popular park."

"The curfew would've kept most indoors, Sir," Evans said. "Leaving the killer with an opening."

"Time of death is around 12 hours, so right at the height of the riots and well after the Hells Angels faded back into the woodworks, so to speak," O'Connor said, quoting from the report one of the coroner's assistant handed him. He looked thoughtful. "Any chance it's related?"

"Unlikely. But you two should go talk to Pete Tyler at Torchwood. He got attacked in their HQ by one Colin Robinson, that the Coroner's already said had been dead at least four days beforehand," Jacobson said heavily. "Already pushed the autopsy to the front of the queue, and here's hoping this spot of weirdness isn't related. I'm afraid its likely, however, with this case getting stranger itself."

"The dead attacking people in London? Sounds a bit far fetched, even for that lot. I know Torchwood's got some strange things on their plate, especially with one of their former employees kidnapping the Vitex heiress – isn't that the same Pete Tyler?" Gail said, surprised. 

"Yes, the very same. It would have to figure that Torchwood would be the ones ending up with things like that. I'm not half surprised they've not had more. If it's weird, that lot have got to be involved somehow. Could at least see what you can find on their John Smith – find out when he first showed up here and see if that correlates between the first murders," Jacobson said.

"Figures. They started out as a group of misfit street toughs founded on the wealth of that same eccentric millionaire whose daughter has now been lugged off," O'Connor said, not hiding his derision. He'd lost most of his family, including a young wife to the Cybermen and blamed the Preachers and the like for not being faster at stopping the menace. "Who'd be surprised if they were harboring a murderer in their ranks, since they've already had a half alien kidnapper lug off the boss' daughter."

"That's still mostly rumors," Gail said, mindful of her partner's prejudices. 

"Didn't see her mum on the telly, then, pleading for her daughter's safe return with her little brother in her arms?" O'Connor retorted. "Still one of them bleeding hearts that think Torchwood is out to help and that there's such a thing as a good alien, then? You ask me, the only good alien's a dead alien. Bugger the whole lot of them that try sorting them out. They weren't even that effective at clearing out Lumic's robots, were they?"

"Don't see any more about, now, do you?" she snapped back. "They got rid of them all."

"Not before those metal bastards wiped out almost a tenth of London, and most of the people in charge who knew what the hell they were doing," O'Connor rejoined, before Jacobson raised a hand to stop things before it went further. 

"Bin it, or I'll find someone to replace you to interview Mr Tyler. Antagonising one of the richest men in England isn't going to help, so you'll have to keep your opinions to yourself," Jacobson warned DCI O'Connor. "He'd be likely to lodge a complaint and you'd be getting the sack before the week was out. The man may be unusual, but he's hardly the type to have knowingly let his daughter near a mad man. Much less asked for the zombie apocalypse to start in his organization. It's a long shot, but maybe he knows something that links the cases that'll lead us to capturing this perpetrator and get them behind bars, where they're not a threat to the public."

 

 

Pete wasn't surprised when the DCIs from the Metropolitan Police showed up, to be escorted up by Mr. Thomas, who was off the entrance detail now. That job had been taken over by a younger contingent from the building's security personnel.

"Send them up," he said through the intercom, remembering fondly when Torchwood was less than twenty people, all of whom he knew personally. Things had been much simpler then, no paperwork or records keeping. All that had changed once the stars started going out. What had required a few technicians and physicists for the original Dimension Hoppers, required a dozen times that number for the Dimension Cannon. His sleek, streamlined group of go-getters had become an less than efficient organization, bogged down with bureaucracy and far larger than he himself wished. Leading him to this point, with the Met sending in detectives on an inquiry. Add a hundred pencil pushers and they still think I've got nothing but street rats here, he thought sourly. 

There was a demure knock at his office door, before it opened to reveal the two detectives. One was average height, blond and the type of man that would easily blend into any crowd, easily forgotten. The woman was surprisingly petite, dark haired and short enough to be mistaken for a schoolgirl. She was the one to take the lead, the man hanging back with an openly suspicious expression. 

"DI Gail Evans," she said, presenting her warrant card. With a motion, she indicated her partner. "DI James O'Connor, Mr Tyler."

Pete looked the identifications over carefully, seeing they were authentic looking enough. Not that that didn't exclude them from being one of Ferguson's lot undercover. He wouldn't put much past the MI5 agent, that he now knew was one of those human servants. "I assume this is about the attack on my person yesterday?" he said, all businesslike. He waved them to two chairs placed special for the occasion and sat in his chair behind the desk. Usually the chairs meant for visitors were more inviting than these were, but he didn't want the detectives getting too comfortable. Let them squirm a bit, keep them off balance as much as possible. 

"Yes, sir. Plus we've questions about your former employee, one John Smith," DI Evans said brusquely as she sat down. "We're to understand he's an alien refugee?"

Pete nodded, looking relaxed, while inside he was cursing all the regulations that had been forced upon Torchwood by a paranoid populace. This current situation was a harrowing demonstration why having the organization so open and publicly visible wasn't the best. There'd be changes in future from this. "He is," he said flatly. "What's this to do with Robinson's apparently deciding kill me after he'd already died himself?"

"Are you unaware, then, of the series of impossible murders around Greater London, Mr Tyler?" DI O'Connor snapped, disbelief in his tone as he cut in. 

"Indeed, I am not. The memos have been going out to all the agencies in Britain and to Interpol, as well, I'd imagine," Pete said gruffly, not even reacting to O'Connor's blatant attempt to wind him up. "We've not had anything remotely similar in our own cases here. Nor was there any similar damage to Robinson's body, at least, as far that I could see."

"Could you describe again the circumstances that lead you to shooting Mr Robinson, Mr Tyler?" DI Evans asked, shooting O'Connor a look that urged for more diplomacy and tact on his part. 

The other detective was silent as Pete described the circumstances – or atleast the story that was the safest version, leaving out the Doctor, Rose and the bikers in the basement with him at the time. He'd had the foresight to wipe his sidearm down, obliterating any prints, before replacing them with his own. Pete had no doubt the physical evidence was still being gone over as they spoke now. Wouldn't do to have them find proof that there was a lot more to events that he knew about and come back with tougher questions and demanding immediate answers. 

"Are you aware, then, that nonhuman DNA mixed with human biologicals was found under Robinson's fingernails?" DI O'Connor threw in. 

Damn, explains why they're asking about the Doctor's alias, Pete thought as he mimed surprise. "Was there?"

"Had you any thought this could be involved with your daughter's kidnapping, or that John Smith could be involved with the murders, since there's only so much strangeness to go around and there's plenty of strange to be found in either case?" O'Connor asked, leaning forward. 

"I highly doubt..." Pete started, exasperated by the line of questioning and wondering how much longer he'd be forced to keep his end of this charade up. 

"I'm sorry, sir, if this bothers you," DI Evans said softly, looking daggers at O'Connor. "You've not heard from your daughter or her kidnapper since?"

"No," Pete said heavily, deciding to mix some truth in with the lies. "I doubt he'd actually harm her, since they knew each other fairly well at one time. I think they might've been in love once."

Evans and O'Connor exchanged looks, hers of surprise, his of outright disgust. "Any chance he's not holding her against her will?" she asked gently. 

"You'd think if your daughter knew him so well, she'd have known the things he's believed to be involved in. You would think she'd know if her bloke was a mass murderer and known to have taken down entire planets according to the reports on him. Or that Torchwood itself would," O'Connor cut in again. 

"I don't know," Pete said gruffly, playing the part of an extremely upset father and going to stand by the window, looking out over the city with his back to the detectives. "Stockholm syndrome is probably bloody likely at this point, so who's to tell. He's out there, he's got my Rose, and no one knows where the hell he's gone," he said flatly. He turned to point an accusatory finger at them. "And you lot, instead of looking for my girl, are up here, asking me useless questions on something most likely completely unrelated. What he's done isn't going to change the situation or bring her back home safe."

"Not necessarily, the full results on the DNA we found will be in by the end of the coming week and will be cross-referenced against the DNA gathered from your home that's believed to belong to John Smith," Evans said, showing Pete that the Met was further along than he'd thought. They were smarter than he gave them credit for, or atleast Evans was. 

"Convenient, it was. That John Smith would have the smarts to do a runner before he'd gone in for the mandatory medical scans. Otherwise we'd have his DNA and fingerprints on file and verified, not just a partial E-fit," O'Connor said testily. 

"Torchwood has teams looking, but with you lot and MI5 all over us, getting under our feet constantly, we can't exactly get to looking very well, now can we. Up until they sent stormtroopers into my house in the middle of the bleeding night, we'd not had a single issue with him, and no signs of violent tendencies. I can't say how likely it is that most of what happened was from someone pushing the man too far, painting him into a corner he couldn't get out of," Pete snapped, patience starting to wear thin. He was starting to worry, knowing if the suspicion started to shift towards Torchwood and his own involvement with the Doctor, things would spiral out of control fast. He remembered well what the Doctor was capable of sacrificing to protect Rose from danger. What would happen if the rest of the family was under threat? Rose herself would be nearly unstoppable, going to their defense. What would the Doctor do to save Jackie, Tony and himself at Rose's request? If the other version of him would trap Rose in a parallel world to save her, what would he do to save her family if she asked, or to stop her from putting herself in harm's way to do it herself? 

"You hadn't known his past, then?" Evans said in surprise. 

"I'd only heard what Rose and my wife had said. They barely knew him, themselves. Only knew Rose from the period before she'd come back to us, and had met Jackie during the time she'd had amnesia after the attack by the Cybermen," Pete said tiredly, referring to the cover story to explain his wife's reappearance with their full grown daughter that had not been known to exist. The rumors had been quieted mostly with a story of amnesia from the trauma for Jackie and Rose having been given up for adoption in secret, only to be found by Jackie as she'd recovered her memory. The whole story had been swallowed hook, line and sinker by most people, even if some of the gossip rags still came up with alternative theories to their origins. None were any wilder than reality. "I only knew the man a short time," Pete added, thinking there was enough truth to that lie. "Seemed an alright bloke, if a tad unusual. Smartest man I've even met. Bit arrogant, at that."

"Had he any interactions with Robinson in the time he was at Torchwood?" Evans asked. 

"No more than any new employee would've. He was mostly in the Archives when he was here, Robinson was the division head of R&D, handled the paperwork, mostly. Smith was only here the four days," Pete said, having answered most of these questions when this had first started over two weeks before. 

"Anything you can tell us on why people mostly referred to Smith as 'the Doctor'?" Evans continued, obviously taking over on the interview. O'Connor seemed to be silently seething over his inability to break past Pete Tyler's cool demeanor and thoroughly rattle him honestly.

"Just a nickname, as far as I know," Pete said, watching O'Connor from the corner of his eye. The man had rattled him more than he'd ever know. Years of cutthroat business dealings had given him the experience to hide enough of his true reactions to throw these honed detectives off their game. If you lot think you're figuring me out, you've not seen anything, he thought sourly. Just try dealing with the Doctor. Pray to whatever you hold sacred that you never have to because he'll have you in knots. That is, if he doesn't decide to take this personal, and then you'll really have a problem. 

"Any harsh words between them?" Evans pushed.

"What's this to do with Robinson's attacking me? Smith barely knew him, never saw him outside of this building, and hasn't contacted anyone here to my knowledge," Pete said, sounding bored, but getting angry in reality. "This whole line of questioning is absurd and I find much of it to be highly offensive. Check the CCTV – you'll not find him coming around the area."

"Would do, but the cameras are malfunctioning. Other than showing the Hells Angels in the vicinity just before most of them shorted out, there's no CCTV footage around most of Wapping after 10:13 yesterday morning. Most of the cameras are on the fritz still," O'Connor said testily. 

"A good quarter of the CCTV system is down in the London area, to be exact," Evans said archly. 

It was Pete's turn to be surprised, authentically so. When the Doctor said he was clever, Pete hadn't imagined that far. Forget trying to catch him, he thought. _Forget even trying to figure out how he pulled that stunt with the cameras,_ he thought. " _That_ , I did not know. We've still got teams out trying to assist with the cleanup from the riots and a team checking a report of unusual lights in the sky over Knightsbridge. Considering the equipment we usually rely on, CCTV footage is only used as a last resort," he said, ignoring the fact that was one of the points of contention between the police and Torchwood. 

The fact that Torchwood was less reliant on government funding and its budgets were much less constrained tended to cause jealousy. Having Vitex's resources to cover better equipment was just part of the perks. The police only had to deal with the human element – they had aliens, the paranormal, and mad scientists to worry about on top of it. And now, keeping the police and MI5 from capturing the Doctor. It might bear considering a long trip abroad for them, even after this is over, Pete thought with an inward sigh. _Jackie's gonna hate it, but if this O'Connor is anything for a gauge on popular opinion, they'll be safer giving this some time to blow over. The cat's already out of the bag, so to speak, and it's already known to the gossip rags that he's part alien._

O'Connor bristled slightly, but said nothing as he looked to his partner. DI Evans stood and said in a tone that said she was one of the few that carried none of the resentment common in law enforcement, "We'll be taking no more of your time then, Mr Tyler. Be advised that we may return at any point with more questions."

DI O'Connor followed her, giving Pete a knowing look that said he wasn't fooled. Pete had a feeling that even if he'd told the absolute truth, O'Connor wouldn't have believed a word of it. He'd be contacting the head of the Metropolitan Police, Harlow Jeffries, before long. Getting O'Connor kept away from the Doctor after this all was done was going to be a priority. There were already signs that the man's prejudices would be an issue and the part human Doctor would be a target, even after they got MI5 off his case. 

 

 

 

Rose woke feeling surprisingly refreshed, if not rather stiff from the uncomfortable sofa. She'd had a moment of disorientation when she found herself snuggled up to someone. That didn't diminish much when she saw who it was, or when she remembered how he'd pretty much propositioned her before pleading out on account of their lousy furniture and being knackered. Honestly, that didn't really surprise her. Any remaining doubts she'd had whether he was really the Doctor had vanished with that. Not that she herself was ready to start anything like that quite yet, but watching him push himself as far as he dared before finding an excuse to back off was very reminiscent of old times. 

_At least he's actually daring to come that close and he actually stayed next to me, instead of finding an excuse to run off to hide_ , she thought as she got up and stretched. _Physical proximity mustn't be so scary anymore for him._

Cursing the kinks in her back from the sofa, she put the kettle on to heat then went to take a shower, hoping the hot water would loosen her stiff muscles. The Doctor was still sleeping, snoring slightly and the marks on his neck highly visible. Either she'd have to use some of her makeup on that to hide that or get him to wear a scarf, because there was no way people wouldn't notice those bruises. No chance of getting him to stay inside, since his idea of low profile was joining a biker gang, she thought with a fond chuckle as she fiddled with the taps. 

Trying to get a reliable stream of hot water was hard enough, much less one that wasn't too hot or too cold. The Doctor had offered to fix it but she'd firmly said no, since there were other people to think of. Edgars had already done enough for them, and there was only so much someone could put up with, and requesting renovations and repairs that would cost thousands of quid would be the end of the tolerance, she imagined. The Doctor rigging the thermonuclear device he said would be perfectly harmless and would run for a couple of centuries without refueling would do that so much faster. Explaining to him that people tended to get a bit upset hearing "nuclear" or "radioactive" with regards to the contents of their building's plumbing took some convincing. Safe or not, they'd be out on their ears, if not turned in to the police. 

When she finished her shower – glad that years of dimension jumping and travelling with the Doctor had taught her how to manage with quick showers – she hurriedly got dressed. It was chilly in the flat, the damp from the rain outside seeping in.

Her cup of tea warmed her as she sat on the end of the sofa, grateful that this was a Sunday and Edgar and the boys wouldn't be likely to be around. They might be able to rest in peace some. They'd all be lying low for the day, and the garage wasn't open on Sundays. Nigel and Terry had kept the shop open while they were out causing havoc and raiding Torchwood. Noticing the time on the clock, she'd started to worry about how long the Doctor had been sleeping when there was a knock at the door. She grabbed her mini blaster from the kitchen cabinet before looking through the peephole. Rose was almost dumbstruck as she opened the door. 

"There you are! You don't know how hard it is to find parking around this place! I'll be amazed if some scumbag doesn't steal my car," Donna said by way of greeting as she pushed past Rose. "My God, this flat makes mine look like a flipping palace! I thought mine was a depressing little closet. Ha! This takes the cake!"

"How'd you find us?" Rose asked, confused. She locked the door again and pulled the security chain across, putting the blaster in the waistband of her tracksuit bottoms. 

"Easy, just asked Gramps – he knows where the garage is. Can't keep a mystery with me around. Whatever it is, I'll figure it out. Can't spend all these years temping without getting good at figuring out what's going on. Anyhow, after that it was easy-peasy. Just knocked on doors asking for the babbling numpty – the Pakistani lady with the hundred kids downstairs pointed out your flat," Donna said, opening cupboards and finding a mug, clearly making herself to home. She was making herself a cup of tea, shaking her head at the bareness of the cabinets. "If I had known it was like this, I'd have brought you some groceries. Not that you could fit much in here, much less have the room to cook it, but it would be better than naught. Why am I not surprised that long streak of nothing wouldn't have any food about? Where is that dunce, for that matter?"

"Donna–" Rose started, glancing around the doorway to the small lounge, seeing he'd flopped over on the narrow sofa, knees drawn to his chest. 

The indomitable redhead pushed past Rose again, rolling her eyes, saying, "Bloody sleepyhead. Come on, lazy bones, get your skinny arse up!" as she nudged him, only soliciting an incoherent groan. 

"Let him sleep," Rose asked, forgetting her own previous concern about how long he'd been sleeping. "He got hurt yesterday," she clarified, just as Donna saw his neck when she pulled the blanket off his head. 

"Bloody hell! I don't know what's worse, that hair or his neck. Oi, spaceman, you even able to breathe?" Donna asked loudly. She looked up at Rose, concern writ on her face. "What the hell happened? This is more than just hurt. Someone tried strangling him."

"I know. We ran into a spot of trouble yesterday, and I wasn't able to... he tried playing the hero and tried sending me out of the way, and almost got himself killed," Rose said, moving over to feel his forehead. He was cooler than a normal human, but far warmer than he'd been as a Time Lord. She'd no idea how she'd tell if he was slightly feverish, but that still didn't explain why he was still asleep. "Come on," she muttered, pulling him about with Donna's help to get him lying straight. 

"He seems to be breathing okay," Donna said optimistically. "Does he always sleep like this, impossible to wake up?"

"Sometimes," Rose said absently while she felt for a pulse. Finding his neck was too painful looking to even consider touching, she leaned down to listen by his chest, momentarily panicking when she forgot this version of him only had the one heart. There: strong, steady beating. Sounded normal, as far as she could tell. 

Donna was out in the kitchen, fussing around with something, coming back with a wet tea towel and the ice from the fridge. She carefully put it on his neck, this time getting more of a reaction than moving him around and yelling had done as the Doctor woke with a yell. 

"Bloody hell!" he croaked, making both Rose and Donna wince at the ruined sound of his voice. 

"Figures you'd be a bloody crank, even with a throat like that. See if I go helping you again," Donna said without heat, knowing her own dislike of being awakened. 

"Sorry," he whispered, looking contrite even as he made a face at the pain. 

"Here," Rose said, offering him a lukewarm cup of tea. "The heat would be irritating. Keep that ice around your neck, it'll help with the swelling. Thank Donna for having the wits to think of it. We should've done this last night."

Donna flipped a hand, dismissing the thanks. "It's what anyone would've done, even for this sodding wanker," she said, her tone less heated than her words. 

The Doctor was still painfully sipping the tea, pointedly ignoring Donna when Rose said, "I'm sorry if he's an arse, we just had a long day yesterday. Really, long and really bad."

"Who didn't? That's why I'm here. Thought I'd check up on you two, see how you survived the chaos yesterday. Judging from his neck, you definitely got caught up in it," Donna said, giving them both an appraising look. 

Not that he wasn't glad to see Donna Noble, so like the one who'd had a hand in his creation – ha! Hand indeed – but he knew she was determined and smart enough to suss this all out. The parallel version of his best friend wasn't much different, and he didn't want to risk her getting involved with the whole mess with the Great Old Ones. She was stubborn enough that there'd be no stopping her once she started. Bad enough he'd already had her asking questions and sifting through gossip for information. He hadn't been half surprised that she'd not asked more questions about why he'd cared about the office gossip at the Ministry of Defense. 

Rose gave him a look, clearly understanding why he was so quiet. Sore throat be damned, that wouldn't stop that gob if he absolutely had to say something. Now she didn't know what to say, herself. 

"I see, it's all a big secret. You're not fooling me, you know. Let me guess, somehow you ran across those alien creeps that've taken over those toffs from MI5 in the middle of all those Hells Angels going to war with a rival gang," Donna said, watching their faces fall at her deduction. "Ha! I knew it!"

"The Outlaws weren't invited and it was just a ride," the Doctor wheezed, cursing his mouth instantly.

"Omigod! You're one of them! No way! They wouldn't let a skinny little weed like you join, not with that hair. Just imagine what Nerys would say if she knew the Vitex heiress was riding along with a biker gang."

"Donna!" the Doctor said with in a strangled yell.

"Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist. I'm not really going to tell anyone," Donna said, rolling her eyes. "You're too easy to wind up, you know. I won't tell anyone where you are, either. At least, not until you've got back to where you belong. Who'd believe it, anyhow? Though, the Star would pay a fortune for this one, especially if there were pictures. And me without my camera," she teased, watching the Doctor get red and Rose trying not to laugh. 

It was like watching siblings teasing each other. This may have been a different Donna, but it looked to Rose like they'd be the best of friends before long. She couldn't help but think it would be good for him, even if he had that paranoia about ruining the life of this one. Didn't seem like that would bother Donna or that she'd even considered that, coming as across London into a rough-looking neighborhood to find them. 

"You wouldn't," he said hoarsely, making Donna laugh. 

"Go on, you. I won't be taking pictures. That hair would scare anyone. Don't know what you were thinking," she said, shaking her head. She looked at Rose. "I'll have you do the talking, since at least you can talk without sounding like a bullfrog. Probably isn't any good for him, trying to talk."

With a dramatic sigh, the Doctor nodded to Rose before rising to shamble off to the loo. It wasn't to Rose's surprise when she heard the sounds of him fussing with the taps. Sighing, she said, "So what do you want to know?"


	23. Chapter 23

23

For some reason I can't explain...

He gave up on the uncooperative shower, deciding he could just sonic himself clean if he had to. That was, if he ever got a moment of peace. Not bloody likely, not with Donna knowing where they were now. Time to get really, really clever and keep her out of this mess. There were far too many people he cared about ready to follow him anywhere, and now they were going to try getting between him and the enemy.

He already had an idea on what he'd have to do, but getting all these people from getting themselves killed trying to help, or worse, try to stop him – well, that would be the tricky part. He leaned his head against the bathroom wall, closing his eyes and breathing deep. His throat hurt like hell, but he could ignore that with his heart ready to burst for the joy of having his Rose in the other room, as well as his almost best friend. At the same time, the terror that filled him at the thought of the Great Old Ones back in this universe and him without half his capabilities made his breath falter and heart stutter. Here he was, with almost everything he'd ever wanted in arm's reach and once again, the universe – the wrong one, at that – seemed poised to take it all from him. 

He'd sacrificed enough, hadn't he? He'd given up his own people for the greater good; he'd let his other self trap him here, just for the hope of being with Rose. Somewhere, in another universe his other self was still travelling on, broken hearted but still carrying on the battle. Now, when she finally seemed to accept him, fate was rearing its ugly head. Wasn't that the way it always was? Not this time. Not gonna happen.

But, could he do no less than his other self would've done in his place, even if he himself was no longer a full Time Lord, with only one life to give? Just because there was a little human thrown into the mix, did that mean he was no longer a Time Lord? It was more than being able to regenerate and a dual cardiovascular system, being a Time Lord. Far more than that.

And here he was, getting maudlin in the loo with Donna probably interrogating Rose, trying to get herself in the middle of this mess. Bollocks, name the situation and there'd be a human jumping into very center of it, bound and determined to help and getting themselves in trouble in the process. Forget having one or two jeopardy friendly earthlings in his TARDIS, now he had a slew of them following him about, even without a TARDIS. A veritable tribe of them, running along with his madness and he couldn't stop the bloody lunatics. 

As much as they drove him mad with their questions and propensity for always finding the absolute worst place to be, he needed them. He always had, from Ian and Barbara who first taught him that he couldn't just be the great and mighty Time Lord, only observing and never interfering. Not that it helped the problems he'd encountered along the way, since it usually ended with him getting involved, along with whatever humans happened to be tagging along at the time. Ian and Barbara had also taught him that kidnapping was wrong, not that they'd objected over much once they saw what was out there. 

Ah, the things the people on this planet had taught him. Especially Rose, who had taught a tired, broken man that there were still wonders to be found in the universe. That he could even let his hardened heart defrost and there was still such a thing as love. That was something that still terrified him. To love is to lose, and he'd already lost so much in all his centuries. Not that he'd had much love spared for him along the way, and bloody hell. He'd better grow a set and go back out there before Donna had her bags packed, ready to join them in exile. Time to jump into the lion's den – or should that be harpy's den?

Donna, so bold and brash, both versions of her. And both utterly scary. She was the one he literally collided with when he made a hasty exit towards the kitchen, looking for a cup of water for his dry throat. "Um, sorry," he croaked, flashing her a bright smile to hide his thoughts of things he was likely to soon regret. Regret, that old and familiar friend. Where'd he be without it? Oh, yeah, probably wouldn't have made it through the Academy, much less the first eighty years of life on Gallifrey without a lifetime's worth of regrets. And then there'd been so many more lifetimes with their own, extra share of them. 

Apparently, he wasn't any better at hiding things from the Donna Nobles of the Mulitiverses because she grabbed him by the shoulders and looked him over. "What?" he said hoarsely, wishing he'd thought to at least scan his throat for permanent damage when he'd the chance. 

"You're up to something," she said, peering closely at him. "I can tell."

"I'm not–" he started to protest, pulling away from her, only to find there wasn't anywhere to go. 

Donna was between him and the kitchen and Rose was blocking the door to the lounge. "Rose, does he not have that look like he's just found out his great aunt died and all he's inherited was her two dozen cats and he's allergic?" Donna said, giving him a look that said she was no one's fool. 

"He does," Rose cheerfully replied, glad she had someone else to get it out of him, whatever 'it' was. "You've got that look you get when you know the shite is gonna hit the fan," she told him pointedly. "And you don't want anyone else to know."

Willing to admit he was beat, he mumbled, "Yes, the excrement is undoubtedly heading for the ceiling-mounted air circulation device and bugger, but I seem to have left my brolly in the TARDIS." He gave them a look that said he wasn't saying anymore. _Take that, Donna Noble. Your counterpart gave me an extra dose of stubborn, along with the extra rudeness. You can put that in your pipe and smoke it, too_ , he thought as he gave them a tight smirk. 

"That's his inscrutable look," Rose said helpfully. He was back to being reserved and uptight again, making her want to shake some sense into him. 

"Inscrutable, huh? Looks like he swallowed a box of clothes pegs while he was half in the bag," Donna said, leaning forward to sniff him. "Doesn't smell like it, but that's no guarantee there."

"'M not drunk! All I've had is tea. Really, you two are impossible..." he snapped, trying again to retreat to a safer location. One preferably without prying females. Lovely to look at as Rose was, she wasn't exactly helping him out of this. 

"So then you aren't planning anything completely daft, then?" she said flatly, not letting him by. 

"What? No," he said, trying to back away and seeing that direction wasn't going to work, either. Unfortunately, the front door was also on the other side of Donna. No escape there, either. He briefly considered yelling for help, but figured that would hurt too much. Plus Mr Singh was likely at the restaurant already and his wife would likely take the side of these two, and good luck waking Mrs Edwards. Mrs Carson of the chronic insomnia was probably asleep finally and would likely come after him with a cleaver, so there went that. Give him Daleks and Zygons any day, just spare him from the mercies of females bent on making him spill the beans. At least the injury helped remind him to keep his yap quiet. 

"You couldn't lie to save your soul, can you, Spaceman?" Donna scoffed. "I've known your type before. Can't hardly get dressed properly without messing it up, but still think you're bloody well Superman."

He gave her a haughty look, seeing Rose was just as avid about getting an answer. She couldn't know, not yet. That expression usually worked, even Rose knew to back down once he'd gotten that expression signaling he was done talking and any further pushing would end up with the possibility of the rage of a Time Lord. "Just let it go," he grated, hoping this would work. There was enough truth in what he was about to say. "I'm not going anywhere or doing anything today. 'M gonna rest."

He spent most of the day checking on the growth of the TARDIS coral, which was now approaching watermelon size. He'd already had to change the little clay pot Sylvia had given him to a larger container. Somehow, the used oil pan worked. Though it felt a bit sacrilegious, growing a sentient eleven dimensional time ship in a container borrowed from the garage below. He was glad however, that she hadn't gotten to the stage of development where she was conscious. Donna's comment about "half-rate aliens with pets that look like loofahs" would've probably doomed him to a lifetime of an even crankier TARDIS than the original. 

"Hush! If she hears you, Rose and I will be relegated to nothing but trips to Clom and always landing on Sundays," he said, giving her a warning glare. 

"Today is a Sunday and it's not so bad, is it?" Rose cheerfully asked.

He gave her an unimpressed look, mutely pointing to his neck and waving an arm to indicate the rest of the flat. Clearly, his opinion of certain days of the week hadn't improved. 

"He's got a valid point," Donna said. "Wouldn't be half bad if you had a working telly. But no, yon weirdo has a giant loofah wrapped in half the building's wiring in the only place it would fit in here."

"We had an old telly that Crispin gave us. You're looking at it's remains," Rose said. "I would rather a TARDIS instead."

"Figures," Donna said, rolling her eyes. "You're as mad as he is. Made for each other, you are. Nutters in love. At least you've got a passing acquaintance with reality."

"Oi! I'm missing the Eastenders too, you know," the Doctor muttered under his breath as he dipped a finger into the growth acceleration formula in the oil pan. With a quick lick, he could tell he was low on a few chemicals, but not the precise percentages. Far too many blasted human taste buds in the way. "Rose, where's the box of ammonium nitrate?" 

"You'd had it last. Where'd you move it to?" Rose asked him, starting to look around the immediate area around the coral's growing matrix. 

"Dunno. Says 'Miracle-Gro' on the package," he said helpfully, still not shifting from where he sat cross legged on the floor. He said he was going to rest, didn't he? 

Donna helpfully looked around, toeing through the notepads scattered on the floor, raising an eyebrow at all the scribbled circles and half moon shapes that covered them and what looked to be half finished mathematical equations. She'd have thumped the silly half alien if he'd had the nerve to make a mess like this in her flat. Rose, however, didn't seem to mind the clutter that had taken over half the room and was threatening to spread further. There were circuit boards, bits of wire and things she couldn't begin to guess at stacked haphazardly on the little set of shelves against the wall. More on the windowsill, and schematics for more weirdness sellotaped to the walls. No signs of garden fertilizer to be found, but locating anything reliably in here would take forever. "How you've managed to get this much junk in a flat the size of a walk-in closet is beyond me. Or why Rose puts up with this, at that. It'd take an entire rubbish skip and a fortnight to get this sorted. Forget trying to find your Miracle-Gro in this mess."

Rose shrugged. "At least it's contained in the flat. He was starting projects in the garage, but Edgar put his foot down on that."

"I was just trying to improve the car lift – would've made it more efficient and added a scanner function to run diagnostics in seconds," the Doctor quietly snarked, suddenly remembering where the ammonium nitrate went. Oooh, forget that. Hope they don't find it – too many sticky questions to answer there. They'll find out soon enough. "Never mind, Marcus will bring some by tomorrow," he said lightly, hoping they wouldn't inquire how he'd managed home delivery of fertilizer. Just hope he didn't bring his scary little anarchist friends along. 

That would definitely lead to those questions he hoped to avoid. The whole multicolored hair, nose piercings and all that would be a dead giveaway that they were a bit odd. Except for Eloise Jenkins – she of the tweed skirts, sensible shoes and pill-box hat, who looked so normal and mousy _she_ scared _him_. She was an actuary. An anarchist actuary was somehow more unnerving than a regular one. She could insure your local police station, just before she and her weird little mates could blow it up to show they were putting it to the man. 

Thumbing your nose at authority was one thing –he was the last one with the right to judge that point. Calculating risk assessment for purposes of selling insurance – that was the scary part. That, and the whole thing with bricks, coffee urns, and desks flying through the air and the disgruntled coppers after. Well, pot meet kettle. He was a good one for bothering the rozzers, and everyone else who'd ever tried getting in his way. If he'd had his way, the world would be run by those lovely people who sold foodstuffs on the street and greengrocers. Solid people, they were. Keeping people in hotdogs and bananas. On second thought, screen the grocers first – make sure they weren't selling certain fruits and vegetables. Beans were evil, too. It was not just pears and carrots.

Rose turned to look at him, thinking suddenly of the other things one could use certain fertilizers for. He had that innocent look on his face, one she knew for certain meant trouble. What was he up to now? He hadn't been making friends in bad places with people he shouldn't again, had he? "Doctor, what are you up to?"

He gave her a bright smile, one that was way too happy and manic to be a good sign. He had that 'I'm so clever, you're just going to be amazed' look that preceded disaster, getting banned for life from various countries, planets, solar systems and lots of running. "Me? Nothing at all," he said hoarsely. _And there absolutely isn't the start of a bomb hidden under the sofa cushions. No one's even noticed the extra lumps, either. Or the portable exo-cosmic energy scanner I cobbled together from one of the handheld computers and what used to be Edgar's voltage meter that's under there too_ , he thought as he gave her his brightest smile. 

Donna snorted. "I'd be keeping an eye on that one. He looks like the cat that got the canary, the cream and sicked up on your slippers and is waiting for you to put them on," she said, giving him a squinty look. 

He shot Donna a withering look, but said nothing. The one good thing about having mostly human biological repair systems: if he'd still been a full Time Lord he'd have already healed the damage and would've ended up saying something in response. Being nearly strangled – one way to prevent jumping in with both feet in his mouth. Always look on the bright side of these things.

"He does, at that," Rose said, resolving to not let him out of her sight for the foreseeable future. He was good at finding trouble and even better at starting it if there was none to be found. He still worried her. She'd noticed how much thinner the other him had been as well – and this one certainly wasn't any better fed looking. If anything, he was eating less and getting gaunt looking. He wasn't eating much, and hardly had an appetite. Hopefully after things calmed down, she would have better luck getting him to sit down to a decent meal and help him work through his issues so he wasn't a whirlwind of swiftly changing moods. 

 

 

 

It was another day before he was feeling quite up to snuff. A day where they mostly stayed in the flat since he'd apparently missed one of the CCTV cameras on Cable Street and he'd been recognized. They'd not seen Rose or any of the others, but now his face was on the front of every newspaper and all over the telly, according to Wilf. Just wizard. Now he had had to shave everything off – including his sideburns. He wasn't happy, even if Rose said he was rubbish at growing a beard. She'd even suggested the worst: a haircut. Of all things, he was not repeating the whole buzz cut thing. He wasn't that bloody miserable yet. 

A metacrisis and wiping out the Daleks didn't rank with the Time War and he wasn't giving up his wonderful hair. At least he'd been able to dye his hair back to normal and he'd promised to wear a hat and a mask. Worked for bank robbers and Zorro, didn't it? Why not part-human Time Lords, since he was so much cooler than Zorro. Forget rapiers, he'd a sonic screwdriver and pockets that were bigger on the inside. Though, he had to admit the horse would be brilliant, even if Rose didn't appreciate remembering the last time he'd had a horse. She didn't have to be so hard to convince on the whole mask part. And Donna didn't have to say he could be "the Great Space Dunce, faster than a speeding 'oops! I'm sorry'" They had no faith in his very impressive capabilities. Really, how was a bloke going to keep his confidence with these two stomping on his ego and threatening his hair like this? Women, so hard to deal with and so bloody cheeky, too.

If anything, this parallel Donna was more infuriating at times than the original. And she was just as good at reading him. He was in for trouble. Two women able to figure him out. How was he supposed to get anything done or have a private mope with these two after him constantly? Thank the stars there was only one actually living in this flat and Donna was gainfully employed somewhere that required her to keep a strict schedule. It was a mercy, since she was limited to how many hours she could tease him and provide Rose with backup on trying to make him talk. He was half tempted to borrow a line from that mysterious Professor River Song and yell "Spoilers!" while legging it in the opposite direction. Oh damn, now he'd never have the chance to find out how the hell she knew his name. Now that was a mystery he'd never get to solve. Other him would have the satisfaction of finding out that one.

Donna had come back the previous evening after work with a couple sacks of groceries, Chinese takeaway, and ordered them both to eat before they wasted away to nothing. "You're getting as skinny as him, Rose, and he's doing a good impression of a zip if he turns sideways and sticks his tongue out." When they'd plied her with heartfelt thanks, she'd waved them off. "It's my good deed of the day – feeding the starving masses and all. Though fixing tall, pale and daft's hair would put me up there with Mother Theresa and Ghandi on the karmic scale."

She was nice enough, however, to give them a ride in her car so he could try out the portable exo-cosmic energy scanner and look for the Old Ones signature. They couldn't be too far from the London area and something told him they were just under his nose. 

"Is that Edgar's voltage meter?" Rose said disapprovingly, looking over the seats at him where he sat in the front passenger spot. At least this was more like things used to be with them. 

"I'll get him a new one," he said dismissively, focused on the map on the little screen. "Busy trying to save the universe here, so try to worry about the rules of possession after, yeah?"

Rose rolled her eyes at that and watched attentively. "We're heading into Shoreditch now," she said, glancing out the car windows. "Hope they're not looking for us around here."

"Great, now you tell me. I'm not going to end up in prison for this, am I?" Donna asked. "First sign of the police and I'm chucking you both out. They'd be putting me in the loony bin for even attempting to explain how I got involved in this. Runaway heiresses, half alien nutters who sit in inappropriate places and help themselves to anything they like..."

The Doctor was ignoring them both, seeing something show up on the little display. "Ha! There! I knew it. Right under my nose, too."

"You found them?" Rose said, leaning forward to look closely. 

"Yup," he said, popping the 'p' and giving her a triumphant smile.

She smiled back at him, nudging him. "I knew you could do it," she told him, glad to see him looking completely happy for once. Funny how it took finding monsters to make him confident again. 

He could've died a happy man then, to be back adventuring with Rose. Maybe he'd gotten the better end of the deal, after all. _Take that you sodding wanker_ , he thought. _You might have the coat and my ship, but I've got the girl._ "Slow down, you've got to turn left up here," he told Donna, pointing to a small street ahead, just past a tattoo parlor. "On second thought, stop there. I've got to see Marcus."

Donna pushed his arm out of the way and said with exasperation, "Fine, just keep your arm out of the way, I can't see where we're going. Last time I'm letting you do the navigation. Next time you can do the damn driving."

She pulled over by the kerb and he jumped out after telling them he wouldn't be but a moment. Of course, no one actually listened and they both followed him in, looking avidly at the assortment of tattoo patterns, jewelry meant for body piercings and pictures of some unusual body art on display. The gaudy neon signs were just part of the scenery, drawing the eye to the small shop.

"Takes all kinds," Rose said with a shrug, thinking she'd seen far stranger things with the Doctor. 

Marcus Travvers was a short, deceptively straight laced looking man, completely unremarkable looking. Unless you actually knew him.

"Hey, you're back, Doctor. How's the tat?" he said by way of greeting.

The Doctor gave him a silencing look, leaning forward to lean close, not caring he was looming over the man who looked like a jockey who'd gotten lost on the way to the races. "Hush up, or I'll tell Edgar exactly what you misspelled on his last one. My girl is here and doesn't know about any of this. See the girl over there, the one who's not ginger?" 

"You mean the one right behind you that's been listening in?" Marcus said blithely. 

The Doctor quickly turned and put a pseudo friendly arm around Marcus. "Hello, Rose! Meet Marcus Travvers. Terrible habit of making things up. Compulsive liar, been in therapy for years, the poor wee chap."

Rose gave the Doctor a look that said he'd be answering some questions later before turning a bright smile of greeting on Marcus. "Hello, so nice to meet you."

"Likewise, miss," Marcus said, wincing slightly at the warning squeeze the Doctor gave him before he let him go with a slight shake. 

"I'm Donna Noble. Hello! What's this tattoo, you speak of?" Donna asked, beating Rose who was about to ask the same thing.

"Not now," the Doctor snapped, giving both Donna and Marcus warning glares. "We've more important things to talk about," he said before turning to look at Marcus again. "I need the supplies now. Have you got them?" _So much for keeping some things quiet. I knew I shouldn't have gotten quite that drunk. Add 'getting totally blitzed with Hells Angels' to the list of things never to do again. Live and learn. Maybe she'd think it was romantic._

Marcus nodded, knowing it wouldn't be a good idea to say anything else. "Got it all ready to go," he said, pointing to a paper sack by the door. "Would've dropped it off yesterday, but Lou was a bit late getting it here. He was in the nick until this morning. Unpaid parking fines and didn't return his library books on time."

"No way! The cheeky boy! One way of putting it to the man," the Doctor said with a grin. "Terrible inconvenience to the other people waiting to read the Anarchist's Bible."

"Got the timer and the remote detonators like you asked, though. So it was probably worth the wait," he said, ignoring the comments about the books. 

"Hold on," Rose protested. "That's bomb components." Suddenly, the thought of the Doctor with a possible tattoo was the least of her concerns.

"Yes, it is, miss," Marcus said patiently, giving the Doctor a measuring look. _You're in for a hell of a time answering that one, mate_ , he thought with an evil smile. _Wouldn't be in your shoes for a million quid._

"You mean this nutter's building a bomb, too?" Donna said with a look of complete shock. "What the hell else are you mixed up in?"

With a sigh, the Doctor gave Marcus a look of utter disgust before he gave Donna a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, it just for insurance purposes. It's safe as houses. It's perfectly fine." _Turn on the charm, Theta. Smile at the ladies. Keep this from going completely off the rails, thanks to little gits who are worse than I am at keeping it mum._

"Doctor?" Rose asked, looking for him to explain. 

"It's the only way, Rose. Their lair isn't far, and it's the only way we'll ever stop them. The only way we'll ever get out of here and back to our lives. You can't stay stuck here in Hackney without your family forever. And I'm pretty sure I've already earned more than a slapping from Jackie for this rot," he said grabbing her hands gently, pleading silently that she'd trust him this much further. Either way, they'd be out of this within two days.

Rose looked up at him, seeing the desperation and hope in his eyes. She reached a hand up to pull the hat down over his hair better. It was different, seeing him without the sideburns. "Okay," she said simply. As she saw the joyous smile bloom on his face, she gave him an authoritative poke in the chest and added, "Just no more secrets, yeah?"

"I promise," he said sincerely, almost happy beyond words. 

"Really? You're just going to nod your head and let him do whatever barmy thing he's got planned?" Donna interrupted, eyes wide, looking at them both in disbelief, backing away slightly.

Rose gave him a look, conveying she wouldn't doubt him on this and turned to nod at Donna. "Yup. You wanna come with?" she asked, extending the invitation to the madness she knew was coming.

"You. Are. Both. Flipping. Crazy. Nutters, the both of you. Never met two people better suited for each other in my entire life. Maybe they'll give you matching straight jackets. Or gaol cells, at that," Donna said, shaking her head. _Utter lunacy,_ she thought, seeing the Doctor's smug look of contentment. But, at least this was more exciting than typing a hundred words a minute. Couldn't back out now, someone had to look after the pair of them. And she'd thought Rose was the sensible one of pair. She gave a sigh of defeat. "So when do the explosions start and how far away do I have to park to stay out of the blast zone?"

.


	24. Chapter 24

24

When everything's made to be broken...

Pete had just finished his dinner and was watching Tony with his crayons and sitting with Jackie held close, savoring the moment with his family. It would have been better if Rose and her daft alien were here safe with them all, and something told him it wouldn't be much longer before things came to a head. Call it gut instinct, but from the report he'd gotten from Jake on the people who'd reported seeing them and the police questioning him a couple days before, he knew they were getting closer to being found. 

He'd been unable to hold the truth back from Jackie; she'd known it when he came home. She'd also seen the blurry photographs on the front pages of every newspaper of the Doctor in Wapping, something the DIs had failed to mention. 

"They're gonna catch him, aren't they?" Jackie had asked, concern evident. Her eyes had been bright with unshed tears when she met him in the entrance way. "They're gonna find him and Rose, and then they'll be handing him over to those... those things, won't they?"

"They still haven't found them yet, Jacks," he had said, pulling her into his arms to comfort her. 

"It won't be long, not with their pictures everywhere," she had murmured, with a slight sniffle against his shoulder.

Pete had sighed, knowing she wouldn't believe nor forgive a lie, no matter how comforting it would be. "I know," he had murmured, rubbing her back, wishing he could spare her from the truth and knowing it was impossible. "He'll think of something, and I've got Jake out trying to find them. Bring them in and put them deeper into hiding, outside the country, if need be. I've got contacts who could pull it off. Should've thought of it sooner, just he was so damn insistent on doing things his own way."

There had been a muffled snort of laughter against him as Jackie said, "He's like that. Everything's always got to be done his way and no one knows better than he does." She had pulled back slightly to wipe her eyes. "Arrogant little git. No better than he was as Old Big Ears, just a bit smoother at bossing you around. Charm you into going along with his daft schemes, instead of insulting you into it. Didn't change much, and they're still in danger."

"I'm doing my best, Jacks, you know that. Jake's the best other than those two, and Sally, Owen, and Lane are out there with him, trying to track them down," he had said, hoping against all possibility they could find the pair before the Met or MI5. Or that the Doctor's plan, or whatever it was, would come to fruition soon. Even if it did, he had had a feeling there'd still be a mess to clear up after. 

"If anything happens to him, Rose..." Jackie had paused, unable to speak further. 

"I know," he had repeated, knowing too well what would happen if Rose was separated from him again and the likely outcome of that Ferguson getting ahold of him. "I've got enough evidence to believe it's only a small group among Ferguson's lot that pose a threat. There's no mention of the Doctor on the intelligence community's watch lists. Just this small isolated bunch after him, and the Met. The suspicion on those murders are the only thing besides the fake kidnapping that's listed on him."

"Those charges are going to be hard to get rid of," Jackie had said, looking concerned. "Other than Rose testifying that she wasn't actually kidnapped."

"Unless he gets Ferguson or his masters dealt with, that's a moot point," Pete had said softly, remembering what the Doctor had said about the Elder Gods. "Since they'll be strong enough to take over the entire world if they get the Doctor in their grasp. We'll all be done for, then."

Now Pete was trying to enjoy the momentary peace away from Torchwood, anxiously awaiting Jake's next report. The whole team was supposed to come by to tell him in person, none of them trusting even their own secure communication lines. When his mobile rang, he nearly jumped out of his skin, startling Jackie. She gave him a look of concern as he answered, obviously as anxious as he was himself. 

"Hello," he said cautiously, checking the caller ID and disconcerted to find it was blank. It was the last voice he expected to hear. 

"Pete. Get your people ready to go tomorrow -- see if you can get UNIT in to provide extra manpower. You're going to need it. You're going to have to start evacuating the people who live in the eastern part of Shoreditch. Between the A10 and Old Street," came the Doctor's voice over the line, sounding like everything was as normal as could be, despite what he was saying.

Pete waved a hand at Jackie, who had recognized the Doctor's voice and was trying to get the phone from him. Impatiently, he pressed for more details. 

"Doctor, what the hell... Do you have any idea how many people that involves?! At least tell me when exactly and where," he said, feeling better to hear the lack of tension in the other's tone. 

"You'll know when it's time, believe me," the Doctor said cheerfully before hanging up abruptly. 

Pete pulled the phone from his ear and looked at it with frustration, cursing that a man who could talk the ears off a statue normally had the worst communication skills when it came to a telephone. 

"What is it? What did he say? Are they okay?" Jackie asked, looking even more worried. "Is it over yet?"

"I assume it's nearly so," Pete said, worrying about what the Doctor meant by 'you'll know when it's time' and what exactly the implications of that statement were. "He didn't say."

"Bloody alien," Jackie said, huffing in her own frustration. It wasn't any easier with the two of them on earth than when they'd been off in that box of his. She was still left worrying about the trouble they were into and where they'd gone.

"I have a feeling this will be over tomorrow night, one way or another," Pete said thoughtfully as he scrolled through his contacts to find Jake's number. Finding it, he pressed the 'send' button. "Jake? Meet me here. I know, it's sooner than we'd planned, but I have a feeling we're in for a nasty one tomorrow night. No, no, just we're going to be telling a lot of people they're going to have to leave their homes. Got a call. I have no idea. Things are in motion. Step up the patrols after we talk, and hurry."

 

 

After Donna dropped them off, they headed back up to their flat. The Doctor was quieter than normal, deep in thought. Rose reached out a hand and squeezed his arm to get his attention. He looked up at her, giving her a look that barely managed to be cheerful, the haunted look in his eyes not quite hidden. He was obviously more worried than he'd let on. 

"You're worried, aren't you?" she asked quietly, turning to him where he stood by the south window in the small lounge, the TARDIS coral just behind him. 

His dark eyes met hers, the bland look of cheerful optimism holding briefly before fading into an unreadable one as he ducked his head. She could just make out the twist of lips as he gave a wry smile, heard the regret in his voice as he answered. 

"Yeah, I am," he said simply. "Any other time... if I'd the TARDIS ready, I'd be shoving you inside and sending it off with Emergency Program One running, getting you the hell out of here."

She nodded, feeling a pang of anger at the reminder of his former reaction to danger, glad for once he didn't have a TARDIS. "You could've told my Dad more when you called him."

"Couldn't. I don't know when it's going down, exactly, and odds are, he'll be called in before it's time anyhow. Someone's bound to spot us tomorrow, you know. It'll be a miracle if we can even get close enough before they're onto us. If I had more time, more control over the situation, I could've told him when it's gonna start," he murmured, sucking in his breath to let it out in an explosive sigh. 

He looked up again, finally daring to meet her eyes. "There's so many ways this can go wrong, and yes, I'm scared. Terrified, even. I just... I don't know what's going to happen, and I'm afraid you'll get hurt, or worse."

Rose could see he was warring with himself between the compulsion to do what he normally would've done, namely send her away for her own safety, and his promise not to. "You need me," she reminded him, knowing that telling him she'd be fine wouldn't fool him. It would only lead him to voicing all the terrible outcomes he'd envisioned already. She grabbed his chin and forced him to look her square in the eye as she said forcefully, "I told you a long time ago I'm not leaving you. I'm not a little girl anymore; I've crossed the Void, going from parallel world to parallel world to get back to you."

The memory of the last time she'd said that, the last time he'd had this kind of terror and dread in his chest made him blanch. That time he'd still had two hearts and the Earth was in danger of being destroyed in a war between Cybermen and Daleks and he'd only seen one way to stop it and he'd sent her and Jackie to Pete's World to save them. Canary Wharf was on his list of very bad days, along with that visit to Logopolis. Not quite to the same degree as that last day of the Time War, but still one of those days where it wasn't good. He blanched and swallowed, forcing a small smile as he brutally stomped those thoughts down. He wasn't going to go tripping down memory lane and his list of very bad days. Especially the ones with the capitalized letter Bad Days. 

"As much as you're not going to like it, it might get to a point where I'll have to go on by myself," he said, silently begging her to just listen, to try to understand. After all the years of never letting anyone in because losing them would hurt too much, especially Rose, he's afraid for once what pushing her away will mean, no matter how necessary it might be. 

"But--" 

Her face was showing the mix of anger and confusion she was feeling and it hurt to see it; more than he could possibly admit. 

"If it comes down to it, I'm might have to face them head on. You felt it that night, in your bedroom. You felt Cernunnos creeping around the edges of your consciousness." He paused to watch her uncertain nod before he continued, "That's how they are. Take living, breathing people and take their souls and use the remaining flesh to serve its purposes. It wants to live again, be once more the living, breathing, murdering nightmare it once was."

"It almost killed you, just two days ago," Rose protested. "You can't--"

"Rose, I might have to." He forced himself to keep his voice level, to hold back the flood of remorse and regret at seeing the hurt in her eye. 

"So, this is you, planning to go swanning off again. At least you're kind enough now to warn me, instead of just surprising me with it," she said coldly, turning away abruptly and going to stand by the other window. 

"No, this is just me, warning you in case I have to break the promise I made you. Just a contingency plan, you can say," he said, desperation creeping in to his tone, despite his efforts to hide the panic. "You think I want to even contemplate this, facing this lot without you by my side? You think I want to make you angry with me, risk going too far for you to forgive me?" 

He stood there, breath coming hot and heavy, teeth gritted against the blow he was expecting any moment. He knew the power of words, having used them as his weapon of choice for years. Now he was trembling at the thought of words of anger and rejection from the little pink and yellow human he had given up forever to be with. 

He knew he could've argued harder with his Time Lord self to stay in the TARDIS, but hadn't. He hadn't because for one shining moment, he'd seen the possibilities before him when he'd stepped out on the sand on that blasted beach. He'd seen the hints of what the other had given him a chance for, the things he had sacrificed so _He_ could go on in another universe with the same old life. It would've been so much easier if those words of condemnation hadn't been preying on his consciousness since, had shaded Rose's thoughts on him, and made this so much harder to accept for her. _Almost a millennia, eleven different bodies, two of this incarnation alone now, and still no tact,_ he thought with an internal wince. _Bloody hell, I_ am _an idiotic prat._

"Why can't you understand I'm not leaving you for anything?" Rose cried, turning back to glare at him. "I went through hell to find you, and you dumped me off in this sodding universe again without even asking me what I wanted. And you're still being the damn arrogant Time Lord and deciding everyone's future for them!" 

He flinched, but took it. He wasn't going to point out she was confusing which one of him had done that. Accepting the blame wasn't so bad if she was actually accepting he was still the same man as the plonker in the box who got them into this mess in the first place. It was a start, wasn't it? 

"It's not for certain, it's just in case it happens. Believe me, there's no place I would rather be than with you, and the last thing I want is to do this without you, but I might have no choice. If I was still..." 

He paused to rub a hand over his face, refusing to voice the entirety of what he'd lost and the changes he was still struggling with. 

"After I rig the explosives and Pete's got everyone out of the way, there's a chance we might be able to get out of Dodge in time, without anyone interfering." His eyes shone with nervous hope as he continued, starting to pace back and forth for an outlet for his nervous energy, "I'll still... they'll probably arrest me -- after. You're going to have to let them if they do, so you can help Pete explain all this since I doubt they'll listen to me. Please, Rose, give me a chance. This is the only way I see any possibility of success. I don't like it any more than you do, but please. It's the only way. I've tried finding any other option, but there's no reasoning with it, no bargaining. I've not got anything to build a temporal containment flask, and no way to trap it somewhere safe. All I've got is a slight chance. There's energy readings that indicate a lot of rift energy that if I collapse the energy field around it, it will pull it back through the gaps in reality and trap it back into the Void."

Rose didn't want to listen. Instead she wanted to mull over his words, but she knew enough that he was right and this was the only way to do it. One thing he'd said had caught her immediate attention. "There's still holes in the walls between worlds? Could..." She paused, leaving the last unspoken, though they both knew what she meant. 

He stopped his pacing, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans, swallowing but answering despite his own hesitancy. He had known she'd ask once she knew, but it wouldn't be any comfort and certainly didn't hold the possibility he hoped she didn't still continue to long for. 

"No," he said softly, shaking his head slowly as he prayed she wouldn't see how much the question hurt. "He couldn't. It's not possible. The remaining tears are too small for anything corporeal to get through. It's just large enough to fit a disembodied entity through, and far too small for anything else to escape the Howling -- hopefully. Releasing this much concentrated energy will probably seal the few remaining gaps that are left. I'm sorry."

Rose nodded, deciding she'd accept his words for truth. He'd been more honest than she'd expected, and she hadn't missed the disappointed and hurt look he'd had. She was slightly relieved, even as the small glimmer of hope she'd briefly felt soured. Even if he had said there was a way back, she wasn't sure what she would have chosen it if it was possible. Other than she'd still like to slap the full Time Lord until he understood fully what he'd done, how unfair he'd been to both of them. 

"And then what?" she asked in a dull voice, beyond anger to the point she didn't dare allow any emotion in. She kept her words clipped and professional for fear that she would end up saying too much, or saying something that would end up hurting them both. 

He blinked rapidly, but nodded again and went on like it was nothing, speaking in the same tone as hers. "If they take me in, we'll all have a lot of explaining to do. We'll get through this. Trust me, I'm the Doctor," he said with a smirk that held little humor, only a regretful knowing.

 _Yeah, mate, that you are,_ Rose thought bitterly. _And no matter what you say, I'm not letting you send me away, even if you think you're protecting me._

 

 

The next morning he was up and ready long before Rose was, putting on the mechanic's overalls that he'd already carefully modified the pockets on. He'd been getting the gear ready for today most of the night; double and treble checking everything so nothing would be forgotten. He'd written out a note for Donna, since he had a tightening in his gut and the impression things were speeding up.   
He'd repaired Rose's blaster and the Vortex Manipulator; knowing the latter would probably kill him if he used it again, and not trusting himself with the former. Rose would possibly need both, even if the Manipulator was for the worst case scenario only. She'd not be likely to use it willingly, which was why he'd put a relay on it so he could activate it by sonic from a distance. Better safe than sorry. By the time she found out, it would be too late and there'd have been no other option. 

The timelines weren't clear enough to give him more than a faint impression of the possibilities and the way it absolutely couldn't end. None of them were completely comforting, but the alternatives were too scary to contemplate. Just taking the effort to try bring them into focus had left him with a headache that had put paid to any chances of sleep, even if the anxiety hadn't already done the job first. 

When Rose was up and ready, they went downstairs, the motorcycle Edgar had loaned them waiting. Beside it, Edgar was also, albeit unexpectedly, waiting for them. 

"I'm sending Jasper and Percy with you," he said gruffly, his expression and stance saying he'd take no arguments. 

The Doctor looked to Rose, glancing back to see her reaction before he said, "Edgar, you know I can't..."

Edgar gave a low growl of frustration. "You will. I'm not losing my best mechanic to some weird voodoo shite."

The Doctor gave him a look of exasperation, his words sounding of extreme patience as he replied, "You're sending all of your mechanics out to keep me safe, then? In what way does that make any bloody sense, man? Who'll fix Adriana Hereford's Mercedes?"

Edgar's eyes flicked towards where Rose stood by the garage door, carefully pretending to read the labels on various motor lubricants and fuel additives. She'd known she wasn't the only one who didn't think the Doctor playing the lone wolf was a good idea.

Edgar resolutely crossed his arms over his chest, emphasizing his greater bulk and higher mass of muscles. "You might be some brainy little clever-arse, and the best man with a motor I've seen in my life, but you're not doing this alone. And I know what I'm doing."

"Yeah?" the Doctor said, clearly not convinced. 

"I'm sending my boys to go save the damn world and I'm staying here to provide backup. Percy's got a radio to call in and I'll be able to give you an alibi, or clear your junk out if something goes off," Edgar said, a hint of challenge in his voice. Jasper and Percy came to stand beside him, looking as determined as he was. "You lot can finish the job when you get back."

The Doctor was silent, knowing if things went too badly, there were things he didn't want the Met or MI5 or even Torchwood getting ahold of -- like the TARDIS coral, for instance. He sighed, feeling guilty at giving in, at letting more people get involved in this. Pete's crew and UNIT were trained and at least they had a faint idea of what they were up against. 

"You could both die. Horribly so, even," he told Jasper and Percy softly, cocking his head to the side to watch theirs and Edgar's reaction to this harsh admission of the truth.

"We all sacrifice things in life, so get over it," Edgar said bluntly, refusing to bow. "Show the world we're not just common punks and street toughs."

There was a slight twitch at the corner of the Doctor's mouth, betraying his amusement as he said, "Don't underestimate the power of the common person in the street. It was you lot who took down the French monarchy--"

"Not in this universe," Rose singsonged from behind him. It was the first time she'd spoken to him since she'd awakened. "Louis the XVI abdicated peacefully and Marie Antoinette took the throne. They're still a monarchy there. No revolution because she really did feed the people cake. They're all really fat and happy over there, the French. Forget the bikinis on the Riviera -- just, you really don't want to know." 

Things had been strained between them since last night's conversation, to say the least. This was an icebreaker of sorts. He turned his head to give her a startled look of amazement, eyebrows raised in disbelief. 

"You have got to be kidding me! Really? They're all fat? No more Paris as the fashion capital of the world? Bloody hell, this universe _is_ complete rubbish." Seeing her nod of confirmation, he seemed to sag for a moment before catching his stride again, shaking his head in consternation. "Blow this for a game of soldiers, and thank you parallel world for blowing my chance for providing a wonderfully moving, inspirational speech," he said with mock annoyance in his voice. He motioned to the two bikers and said in a tone of complete determination, "Let's get this show on the road, then."

Rose mounted the motorcycle behind him, pulling on a helmet and handing him the other, glad the tinted visor hid her smile of amusement. The helmets were a simple disguise, easy to remove and something people would hardly notice or question if they saw. As for the motorcycles and their gear, they were all careful to have no club patches in sight so people wouldn't automatically panic and call the police. It'd be awhile before the riots of a few days ago were forgotten, especially since the people in Brixton were just starting to settle down again.

For a moment though, she'd almost seen the ghost of a loud mouthed redhead standing there as he'd proclaimed his utter disgust and derision at the differences in the history of this world and the one their original one. It also gave her an idea for something to remind him there was something to live for, that she hadn't completely given up hope herself. She quickly raised the visor and tapped on his shoulder to get his attention. 

"Just think of all the little changes we can discover after the TARDIS is all ready," she said, risking a cautious grin. 

He looked at her, a slow one of his own rising to match hers. "It's all out there waiting to explore, isn't it? All new, a whole new universe that I've hardly seen," he said, beaming.

He was hiding the fact that he really didn't dare wish for too much, lest it all get snatched away. He'd learned even before his first regeneration that the universe wasn't kind; though it was after losing Gallifrey that he'd learned the extent of how cruel it could be. 

_Trust not in the kindness of the cosmos, for it will surely rise up and kick you in the goolies to remind you what an total bastard fate is_ , he thought, even as he smiled and dared revel in the moment. He had Rose with him again, and she seemed to be hinting at possible forgiveness. He'd enjoy that for the moment, even as he made ready to go once more into battle. 

Jasper and Percy had already got on their motorcycles, walking them forward to either side of the Doctor and Rose, waiting for the signal. With a dramatic pause, he waited for Rose to close her helmet's faceplate then kicked his motorcycle to a start.

"Ready then?" he called over the throaty rumble of engines, waiting until he saw the others nod. "Allons-y!"

 

 

It was barely past noon, and already Jake and Sally were on detail in one of the back alleys in Shoreditch, getting ready to check the warehouses in the area for any vagrants that might not have heeded or even known about the evacuation orders. The story they'd given the press, the police, and the residents of the area was 'a massive gas leak,' and people had bought it hook, line, and sinker. Owen had sarcastically commented on the gullibility of 'idiots who'd believe anything they saw on their telly,' but had been surprisingly quiet and didn't say much when they had split into two groups to make the search go easier. 

They all were feeling the tension, knowing the noose was tightening and the Met already had police going from door to door, not just making sure people were complying but looking for their fugitive. Only UNIT had been told there was an alien biological threat and they were busy erecting barricades to keep all except for Torchwood's agents out after the area was cleared and setting up temporary shelters for the displaced in the event the situation went beyond the hours people would be at work or at school. 

Only this group of four knew there was something more going on, besides Jason from Comms. He was in one of the communication vans, acting as a relay between Jake and Pete himself. Pete had insisted they keep separate lines of communication from the rest of the teams on the street, since no one knew if and when Ferguson and his fellow human servants would show up. No one really knew much of anything, just that this was part of the Doctor's plan. 

"Any idea what he's planning?" Sally asked as they were going from door to door, banging on them before looking inside each one. So far, they'd only cleared four streets, seen no humans, and rousted a dozen stray moggies and found twice that number of rats nests by assorted rubbish skips.

"No clue, but he'll have come up with something good," Jake said distractedly. He thought he'd heard a noise in the next lane over a moment, but couldn't be sure. He was on full alert in any case. 

"You said he was there the night of the Cybermen," she said, trying to find out more. 

She'd only known the Doctor for a couple of days before this whole thing with Ferguson and him and Rose taking off into hiding. Since then everything had been complete chaos, with that weird Ferguson coming in multiple times to question everyone in Torchwood who'd interacted with 'John Smith.'

"Yeah. And he was effing amazing. He gave Mickey Smith the hints he needed to hack into Lumic's database to find the code to disable the Cybers' emotional inhibitors so he could relay the signal to all of Lumic's army, killing them dead in their tracks," Jake said, missing his friend and smiling at the memory. "If he'd not found the code, we'd be lost. Gave us a leg up and leveled the playing field, as it were."

"Now they're out here somewhere, alone," Sally said, feeling an extra bit of concern. "What if that Ferguson is out here too?"

"We'll just have to find them first then, won't we?" Jake said with determination, undaunted. He'd been in far worse situations than this. The army of metal men was far more of an immediate threat compared to this. 

"Never thought I'd see the day when we're actually looking for zombies in London," Sally said a few minutes later, after they'd cleared another warehouse without finding a soul. "You think we can stop searching now? Lane and Owen haven't found anyone in their section in the last hour, either."

"We'll keep looking until we've made sure, because that's our job. You remember what Pete said last night at the mansion. The Doctor said we had to evacuate everyone. We're making sure we've got everyone out; no one left behind," Jake said, stopping as he heard the noise again. He held up a hand to halt Sally's reply, saying in a low voice, "Hold on, you hear something?" 

Sally strained her ears, brow furrowing as she heard the sounds of engines approaching. She looked up, seeing a clear sky, since all the zeppelins had been ordered out of the airspace over Shoreditch. "Yeah, but it's not overhead. I thought they stopped traffic on all the major roads around here."

"That's no car or a lorry," Jake and thoughtfully. "That's a bloody motorcycle, it is. Don't tell me those bloody Hells Angels are out here in this mess, too," he said with a groan.

"But Pete said the Doctor and Rose had some big tough looking blokes with them, didn't he?" Sally said, hopeful things might not be as complicated as it seemed. "Said he was behind at least part of that brouhaha over the weekend?"

Jake gave a sharp barking laugh. "Figures, he'd have a crew with him. Rose said he rarely traveled alone. Seems like things haven't changed that much. Let's go meet the neighbors, yeah?"


	25. Chapter 25

25

A lot of hope in a one man tent.........

Pete was in the one of the comms vans, having arrived on the scene of the barricades outside of the perimeter hours before. He'd called in UNIT and the army for help with the evacuations in Shoreditch last night when he'd started the preparations for this whole operation. The Doctor hadn't given any explanation for the evacuation orders, but Pete knew better than to argue, though he would've been happier to bloody well know why they'd displaced several thousand people starting at 2 AM. 

Pete was flat out exhausted already, since sleeping hadn't been an option with so much to do. Despite the fact that the Doctor had seemed to think such a monumental task like this would be quick work, it had been far from that. Urgent calls to the president, Harriet Jones, for the authorizations, liaising with the military, the Ministry of Defense and pointed questions as to the source of the intel had accounted for much of the night's activities. Also the question whether this was related in any way to the disappearance of Undersecretary Smythe from the Ministry of Defense and 8 MI5 agents. 

Pete had answered in the negative, since he hadn't known anything of the sort had happened, but he had a sinking feeling it probably did. Though the thought that the entity's human servants were at least out of the way was a comfort, as he quickly informed the president and Major Benton of UNIT that the missing people were likely alien impostors. That had been met with incredulity and disbelief, though Pete had been relieved to get a promise that any and all of the subjects would be held for questioning if they were found.

That would be the least of his concerns, as the hours ticked by and the sun rose. The fact it wasn't raining was a minor detail that no one really paid attention to. Everything being pure chaos, as it were. Especially when the call from Torchwood Three in Cardiff came in, reporting the rift was going mad -- activity levels going through the roof, with weevils and artifacts falling through by the dozens, it seemed. That was just the half of it, since the frantic call from the Tower said the rift located there was showing signs of activity, causing massive energy spikes and leading to the entire building put on lockdown and a team on guard in case there was anything else less manageable coming through. The small mercy of having to move most of the personnel out of Canary Wharf, other than a small emergency team to monitor things there, was that most of them were already down here, helping move people and hold back the crowds with the army. 

Pete was praying to whatever listening powers that be that there wasn't going to be any more added to this crisis, feeling like he was juggling knives in a windstorm already. Behind the police cordon, set a thousand meters behind the barricades, it seemed like half of London was there. Half of the city had turned out, waiting for whatever spectacle was going to unfold, mobiles with cameras in hand to put it on YouTube and Facebook. Getting on the massive loudspeakers to plead with them to go home was an exercise in futility, since they remained. A mass of people, prams, pensioners, chavs, middle aged librarians and solicitors alike. Not to mention the bloody press. Every television station, newspaper, and newshound on the planet appeared to be gathered here with epads, cameras, microphones, and flashbulbs by the hundreds, it seemed. It was like Christmas for the news addicts and rubber-neckers.

Now, it was getting on noon and things were quiet within the perimeter as the few teams of field agents left in there were clearing the last of the stragglers. Pete was concerned that Jake and crew hadn't called in in the last hour, though Jason Blake said they were still in communication with each other on their private channel and there was nothing significant going on. The fact they hadn't found anyone in the last hour themselves was something that escaped his notice at first. He would be wishing he'd noticed later. 

 

 

Donna quit work at half nine, an hour after she'd gotten there, once the news bulletins went out about the evacuation orders for half of Shoreditch. It was barely noticed, since half of HC Clements was also leaving, developing 'illnesses' as an excuse to go be looky-lous. She'd immediately dismissed the story of it being a gas leak. When the neighbors' house had had one only a few blokes from the gas company and the fire brigade showed up. Not every bloody fool in a uniform, with the whole damn army themselves setting up shelters for the displaced residents. Who'd they think they were fooling? Not her, that was for one thing. 

When she'd left the car park and started driving, the traffic being diverted away from the Shoreditch/Hackney area was enough to tell her there was something to her suspicions. Add the fact they'd blocked off Canary Wharf with panda cars, which lead to her concluding that Torchwood was probably involved. _Right, that means it's Cybermen or aliens, and the only one I know who claims to be one is on the other side of this mess. Time to go find that barmy Spaceman and ask if this is his doing,_ Donna decided as she switched on her GPS to find an alternate route. 

She had a sinking feeling that he'd told her to pick them up after work so she'd be out of the way before this started. Whatever he was up to, with those detonators and him claiming it was just a scheduled building demolition he'd been hired for, she just knew it was why half the damn city was in gridlock. "Right, you little twonk, you owe me some answers and you'd better have one hell of an excuse for this one," she said with a snort when she was detoured again, for the fourth time. 

It took almost two hours just to get into Hackney proper, and getting to Edgar's garage just outside the evacuation zone took another hour. By now, Donna Noble was beyond annoyed, especially when Edgar stopped her when she parked haphazardly in front of the big sliding door, half on the kerb. 

"Where the bloody hell is he?" she stormed without preamble, pulling herself straight to glare at the much larger man, trying to intimidate him with her fury. 

It worked, kind of, since the big man backed away slightly as he said, "He said you'd be along. He wanted you to grab his turtle or something like that. I think that's what he said. Said it was upstairs in the lounge in it's tray and could you take it with you in case the police come knocking?" 

"What? That little--" Donna fumed, shaking her head. "You mean his TARDIS? You mean that arrogant little git fooled me into letting him do this on his own and he wants me to play babysitter for his pet loofah?"

Edgar nodded, not bothering to conceal his smile of amusement at her reaction. He was glad he wasn't the only one who got this exasperated with the man at times. Seemed to be a common thing with the man who'd tried calling himself "John" when he wouldn't answer to anything but "Doctor" and he kept forgetting "Sophie's" alias and called her "Rose" continually. As if half the damn street didn't know the Vitex heiress and her weird boyfriend were hiding here. They'd all figured the whole kidnapping thing was a story to hide the family's embarrassment. The whole thing seemed like a proper fairy tale, or something of that nature. 

"Where's Rose? Please tell me he's not gone off with no one to make him mind at all!" Donna said as she started towards the side entrance to the building, the flat her destination. 

"She's gone with him, along with two of my lads, Jasper and Percy. Believe me, I wasn't going to let him do this on his ownsome. May've only known him a couple weeks, but he's a walking risk for disaster, that one. That much smarts, that personality, and him with that bomb -- I'm not letting him wander about without someone keeping an eye on him. And I'm not sure Rose could stop him, if it come down to it," Edgar said bluntly, raising her opinion of the man instantly. 

"You're a sharp cookie, you are," she said with admiration, giving the garage owner a considering look. She sighed and shook her head, wishing she'd been more appropriately dressed for this. Not that she'd planned in leaving work early and chasing down a suicidal lunatic and his girl across London when she'd gotten dressed this morning. It might've inspired me to sleep in, she thought with bitter amusement. It'd teach him, now wouldn't it? "I better go get his weird little pet. I imagine they're right in the middle of this, yeah?"

"You think? Left around half six." Edgar was still showing wry humor, though he was obviously still concerned about them all. 

Before she went up the stairwell, Donna turned back to reassure Edgar. "I'm leaving here after. To go find him. Your lads may be big, but I don't think size is going to count for much with that one."

Sure enough, the flat was empty, already possessing that abandoned air, even if most of the Doctor and Rose's things appeared to remain. But there was a note along with the TARDIS coral and a couple jugs of strange looking liquid on the table. Donna read it, giving an annoyed huff after reading it. The jugs were labeled with 'Use 1x Daily' and 'Use 1x per Week'. 

"I'll show you 'sorry' when I catch up with you, you bleeding idiot. That is, if you haven't gotten yourself or Rose killed or arrested," she muttered to herself as she loaded the container with its coral into the boot of her car. "Babysitting pet rocks, indeed! As if. Now to return this thing to it's owner and give that numpty a piece of my flipping mind."

 

 

Jake wasn't surprised to see the three motorcycles left in an alley down the next lane, in between two abandoned blocks of flats. He and Sally had followed their ears to the area, after radioing Owen and Lane to tell them they had found "live ones". First people they'd seen in over an hour, which unnerved him. It seemed that there would've been someone in this section of streets, since he doubted people would be totally compliant with the orders to leave the area. He was surprised to see Rose with three men, none of which he recognized at first. 

"Bloody hell," he sputtered when the tallest, but thinnest one, in a long black leather coat, Doc Martins, mechanics' coveralls, wool cap and wearing a satchel over his shoulder looked up. "Doctor--"

The Doctor barely nodded at them, engrossed in watching a little device in his hands that looked suspiciously like one of Torchwood's own handheld computers, but Rose gave them a broad smile of greeting, looking slightly embarrassed at the Doctor's lack of manners. 

"This is Percy and Jasper," she said, indicating the two bikers who were eying Jake and Sally with open apprehension and hostility. "Boys, this is Jake and Sally. Where's Owen and Lane?"

"Two streets over, looking for you two," Jake said, moving over to glance at the screen the Doctor was studying and muttering. "What's that, then?"

"He's scanning for Cernunnos' lair," Rose explained, introductions over. "Sorry if he's being a rude arse, but he's a little busy trying to track this thing down."

Jake nodded, looking to Sally with a shrug. They'd been fully briefed on the developments, and Pete had told them everything he'd been told about the Great Old Ones. At the moment, it looked like they'd have to wait for any more pertinent information from the Doctor since he was obviously too distracted to even say hello. 

The Doctor finally looked up from the screen, too concerned with the matters at hand for his usual amiable demeanor. "Energy readings are going crazy. They're around here, I know it. Signal's confused by it -- all that rift energy is throwing off the exo-cosmic energy scanner. I wonder why. I'm sure we'll be finding out, with our luck. Can't be that far, though," he said, half to himself, as he started to walk in the direction Jake and Sally had come from, clearly following the map. He barely seemed to notice the cracked and broken macadam under his feet, the broken glass or the graffiti on the walls of the brick buildings around them, much less the people following him, even as he pulled the sonic screwdriver from his pocket and scanned the area. 

"Weird," he muttered, before he stopped to acknowledge Jake and Sally. "Hello."

Sally had been mostly speechless, seeing the changes in her friends. Rose looked less worried than anyone else, calmly watching the Doctor and seemingly confident that the Doctor would solve this dilemma, while he looked like shit, in her opinion. 

"Didn't expect you two to take over the city with a couple of Hells Angels," she said with a look that was half amusement, half concern. "When you said you were going to go raise hell, I'd not thought you meant it literally."

"Sorry about that. Wasn't planning on this then, myself," the Doctor said dryly, a hint of amusement showing in the twist of his lips as they turned off into another lane. 

Rose looked around, seeing the mostly derelict buildings that had an air of nothing living being within them for a long time. She knew that was impossible, since they were only a quarter mile from Marcus' tattoo shop and they'd seen plenty of people about the evening before. Still, she couldn't discard that impression, even as it made her shudder inwardly at the unnerving feeling.  
Sally gave her a look that said she knew the feeling and shared it, and even Jake seemed unnerved. Only Percy and Jasper seemed unruffled. 

"How the hell are you not a bit freaked out?" she asked Percy, who had dropped the moniker of 'Killer' after the Doctor had lectured him on why that wasn't a good thing to brag about. 

The man shrugged, Jasper answering for his more taciturn brother with a quiet chuckle, "We were bouncers at a club down in Old Soho for a couple years, before the Cybermen. Seen stranger things come through those doors of a Saturday night than any of this shite."

"You ain't seen nothing yet," the Doctor said wryly, with a hint of dread and horror in his voice, coming to a stop in the street. 

They all stopped and stared. Before them were dozens of people -- or what used to be people, since Rose recognized that blue glow coming from their eyes. She moved forward to stand beside the Doctor, grabbing his hand in hers and feeling him squeeze it, trying to calm her and be calmed himself. She could feel the tension in him, the way his eyes flashed with sympathy and sorrow before hardening to something more cold and unyielding. Rose recognized well the signs of him blocking off all emotions in the face of the enemy. 

The group of walking corpses moved jerkily, speaking in an eerie monotone. Young and old they had once been; different ethnic groups and races, a cross-section of London's greater population. There were people in bathrobes, half dressed, undressed entirely, rags, smart business suits, trainers and track suits, leather and lace. All as they had been when the ancient, thieving horror had stolen their lives and desecrated their bodies to make them walk and serve it; an unholy army of the dead. 

"We will take you unto ourselves. We will take your flesh and make it our own," they repeated in unison, the joined voices inhuman and seeming to echo both between the abandoned buildings lining these emptied streets and somewhere between the ear and the brain. 

"There's the missing residents," Sally said, in a choked gasp, as they all started to back away. All of them automatically going into a tight formation so they were all watching each other's backs, only to see more approaching from the crossroads behind and more pouring in from the lane. "My God, there must be hundreds of them!"

There was a sudden flash of blue light ahead, something like lightning coming down on a warehouse ahead of them, making them all involuntarily flinch in surprise. Unlike lightning, however, the bolt stayed. Rippling blue light danced and grew wider, sending sparks across the eaves of the building with a rumbling roar and the pavement itself seemed to vibrate under their feet. 

"Someone's got a rift manipulator in there," Rose said, knowing what rift energy let loose looked like. It reminded her of Cardiff with the Gelth, on a Christmas Eve so long ago with a very different Doctor. 

"It's feeding," he said in an awed voice. "Pulling power from the rift energy so it can get the strength to take over more." 

"Doctor--" Sally said, sounding worried and bringing his attention back to the shambling horrors that were getting closer, though still 50 feet or more away at the closest. She'd brought her blaster up to bear, aimed at the nearest of them.

 

 

Meanwhile, the radio had crackled to life. Jake was yelling at Owen and Lane to get the hell out of where they were, hearing Lane yelling about seeing these weird blue-eyed zombie like things coming at them. It was all background noise for the Doctor, everything seemingly shrinking down the racing thoughts in his mind and the faint sensation of Rose's hand in his reminding him he was flesh as well as mind. Time seemed to slow, as he made plans, came up with solutions, and discarded each in turn. 

Here he was, and the time was at hand. All these people, brilliant, stupid, ordinary people, dead because he'd dithered around trying to hide and sort out his issues before coming after Cernunnos. Snatched out of their simple, ordinary lives for this. More dead because of his mistakes. And here he was, with seven more -- still living, breathing people -- in the area. Five of them within arms reach, in harm's way because of him -- and they were all oh, so fragile. _Oh Rassilon, I'm terrified. There's only one way to end this, to let these walking corpses have their stolen dignity returned and keep anyone else from suffering the same, and there's so much to lose. So much, and damn this humanity_ , he thought. _Damn this all, for now I can't just ignore my emotions and fears and lock my soul behind a wall of obduracy and apathy. I've come too far to go back and I couldn't bear to lose it when I'm just discovering what I've been missing for centuries._ But there was only one way he could see to do this, one way to stop Cernunnos' madness and evil, before it spread further. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I can't save you. I'm sorry I didn't try until it was too late. I didn't know it was this powerful, and I've failed you.

"I need to get into that building, over there," he said, pointing ahead to the warehouse behind the ranks of the human servants ever closing in on them, bathed as they were in the preternatural glow of the Old One's influence and the spiraling rift energy above.

"Are you bloody mad, man?" Sally sputtered in an amazed tone. "There's probably fifty of them between that building and us, not counting the others closing in from all sides."

"Couldn't we distract them? Draw them off, so we can get in there?" Rose asked.

"Owen and Lane are making their way here, they've called in for backup," Jake added, getting off the radio. "My signal's not carrying beyond a couple of streets over. I'm surprised I got through to Lane with the way it was breaking up. Damn rift energy is causing interference."

"No, call them off. All of them. Send them back," the Doctor insisted. "No more people. They'll only end up getting killed and distracting them won't work, they're too far gone for that."

"But--" came a chorus of incredulous protests from the others, only Percy remaining silent, as was his wont.

The Doctor shook his head, resigned to it now. _No other choice, not now. No matter what I plan and for all my intentions, it always comes down to the leaving the dead behind me in droves. Maybe the Master was right when he said I had a far higher body count than even his. Even if their souls are already fled, and it's just their shells remaining. It's not going to bother me any less. Anything to keep more from getting into this monumental clusterfuck this is rapidly deteriorating into. Screwed, blued, and, thanks to a poorly thought out experiment in the extent inhibitions are removed in humans under the influence of alcohol, tattooed. Brilliant expression, that. Human ingenuity at it's finest._

"Does 'Day of the Dead' exist in this universe, by chance?" he asked hopefully, the nearest group coming from a side lane and looming within a dozen feet of them then. 

"The zombie movie? Yeah, why?" Sally asked while backing away slightly, wondering where that was coming from and wondering if the man Rose was just mad about was completely insane. 

Jake got the hint quickly, as he raised his own blaster. "Aim for the head, destroy the brain, aye?" he said with a grin, relieved at a possible method of defense. 

"But there's too many of them--" Rose started, disturbed to see the Doctor make this type of decision. She looked around, disconcerted when she saw Jasper and Percy both pulling guns out of shoulder holsters, and with it the evidence of plenty of extra ammo on hand, as their jacket pockets made metallic noises when they moved.

The Doctor turned to her, seeing the uncertainty in her eyes, already wishing there was any other way, any other means to get by these masses to the warehouse where Cernunnos was waiting. He grabbed her other hand, pleading with his eyes for understanding, showing her he was just as conflicted over this. 

"If I could, Rose... but I can't. I've got to shut down that machine in there. Cut off Cernunnos' means of gaining more power and a stronger foothold in this world," he said with shuddering breath -- single, lonely -- heart in his throat. "There's no other way. I've got to set the explosives, blow up that rift manipulator, and destroy whatever that thing has cobbled together for it's own flesh. Collapse the energy field around it, break its control over this lot, and send Cernunnos back into hell."

Rose stared up at him, seeing the anguish writ large across his face. If he said this was the only way, then so be it. "All that's missing is Dickens," she said in unspoken acceptance. 

Jake and Sally were already ready, dropping into defensive firing positions. No time wasted as they fell back onto their training. 

"Old Charlie boy," he said with a relieved smile at her absolution of this. "At least it's not Cardiff, this time around."

 

 

Pete knew as soon as his mobile rang who was likely to be on the other end of the line. He was not wrong. Of course she'd be calling, with half of London able to see the light show over Shoreditch and her already knowing why they'd been evacuating the area beforehand. He was only surprised she hadn't blustered, threatened, and forced her way through the police cordon to be banging on the Comms Van's door. 

"Where the hell are they?!" came the words sounding of motherly concern coming across as anger. 

"Jackie, we're trying. Jake found them, then we lost communication... " Pete protested as he stepped outside the van to get away from Major Benton's glare. 

"Well, go get them out of there! What the hell are you waiting for?" Jackie could be heard to snap through the crackle of interference over the line. 

Pete looked up, watching the UNIT soldiers and Torchwood teams already in motion, heading in to reinforce the small group remaining within the perimeter. Lane's frantic call for back up, along with the call back minutes later to cancel it, was going unheeded. Though these men and women had been given the orders to proceed with extreme caution and to be advised of the presence of hostiles, as well as friendlies. "Jacks," Pete said, voice almost a breathless sob as he watched the giant ripple of rift energy in the distance that heralded disaster was afoot. "I'm trying, I really am. There's men going in now. I've got to go. Give Tony my love and please, just please stay where you are. I'll bring them home, you can trust me on that."

He hung up before he could listen to his wife's frustrated growl, or any more condemnation. He was already feeling helpless enough, being this far from the front lines, and hated not knowing what was going on. He didn't want to tell her about -- or let her overhear -- the sporadic gunfire he could hear in the distance, either.

The head cams, that were standard equipment for all field agents, had stopped transmitting immediately after the rift had opened up thirty odd minutes before. Reports were flooding in from all over the city and the surrounding areas about television, radio, and cell signals fluctuating madly, cutting out completely at times. It had been a hard decision that was still being debated by the army over going in with little or no communication and no idea what they were going into. 

Finally, Pete had shamed them by dismissing the risk in the face of an obviously greater danger. "Look, we've got people in there. No more than seven people, alone, trying to fight this thing. Atleast two are untrained civilians, and that's not counting God knows how many people missing that lived there," he'd thundered.

"One hundred and thirty seven reported so far," spoke up one of the police officers from the Met that had shown up. DI Gail Evans, he had noticed when he glanced at her badge. "There's more reports coming in every minute. God knows how many aren't getting through because of the signals, plus the airwaves are jamming up, there's so many people trying to ring through."

A nod from Jason on Comms and several of the other technicians on hand monitoring the communications confirmed this assessment for Pete. He had nodded stiffly in grateful acknowledgement, straightening his lapels and standing up to his full height then. Drawing upon twenty-odd years of standing down stubborn business partners, government ministers, stupid politicians, and hostile diplomats from foreign planets and countries. 

"Right then, that's at least one hundred and thirty nine untrained civilians trapped in there and you're just going to stand by because your goddamned radios are on the blink?" He had finished with in a volume just below a yell, disgust plain on his face as he looked at the police, army, and UNIT officials before him. He was purposely trying to not think about the friends, family and colleagues he knew for certain were involved in this. 

That had directly led to now, with one hundred and fifty of the best trained and most experienced people from Torchwood, SOCA, and various branches of the military gearing up for whatever the hell was going on. Even as more were trying to push the throngs of omnipresent gawkers back further. At least they had an idea where they were heading, since Lane and Owen had given their location with a street address before the radio cut out completely. That was the only consolation about it all.

Suddenly, there was shouting in the distance and several people in Torchwood uniforms were running towards them, running away from the blocked off area. Pete pushed through the crowd, no thought spared on being polite as the barriers were opened enough to let a winded Jake, Owen, Lane and Sally through with two large men he recognized from the elevator over the weekend following behind. 

"What the hell..." he started. He stepped back slightly to let the six people recover their breath, holding up a hand to signal they were all safe, that this wasn't the as yet unseen enemy.

"They're coming... had to fall back, there's too many," Jake gasped, bent over and wheezing for air. The rest were doing the same. 

"Bomb... he set..." Sally managed, more winded than she'd expected to be. 

"Stay back, hold steady," Pete ordered the waiting troops behind him. "No advancing in until I say so." 

_To hell with the standard command structure, he thought. Benton and the rest can file their complaints after this is cleared up. I'm not having anyone go running in there now and getting themselves blown to bits. Not until there's solid intel on this. Bloody hell, this is worse than I had ever imagined._

The running having been the icing on the cake of chaos and horror. There was no need to ask who 'he' was. It was obvious who she meant. 

"Bomb?" Pete repeated, shock unbelievably growing at this, heart seeming to freeze in his chest. _How could it have come to this? How could this possibly get any worse and serious than it already had been? First alien entities, evacuations, barricades, the rift going mad and taking out the radios, and now this? What else, a massive pandemic or food contamination scare on top of it all?_ "Where's Rose and the Doctor?"

Pete saw blood spatters on all of them, the immediate situation in front of him suddenly snapping into focus. He quickly motioned for the medics to come forward, ambulances having been on standby for the last four hours, along with the fire brigade. 

"Only option. He sent us all back," Jake said, starting to recover first, already turning to watch the direction they'd come from, tension clear on his face and the way he stood. "Said no one else was to come in after."

"Not our blood," Lane said shortly, pushing the paramedic away as he straightened to look behind him. The young man, who'd only joined up the year before, looked shell shocked. "There were these things. Hundreds of them, it seemed. Like--"

"Zombies," Sally interrupted. "Everywhere."

"Human servants," Pete supplied, watching and waiting himself. He blinked back any reaction to the evidence of the worst of the Doctor's information on the Elder Gods, keeping the professional exterior. He could reel in shock and horror once everyone was home and every was done. "How big is this blast going to be? Do we need to pull back further?"

There were shrugs and indications that no one knew, other than Jasper's offering of, "Shouldn't take out more than a block or so." 

That wasn't much of a comfort or a consolation, either. 

 

 

Rose almost lost him in the warren of lanes and back alleys they were running through, Jake and the others providing covering fire as they ducked into a side alley that had no human servants. There was a moment of brief panic the first time, but he'd slowed down enough for her to catch up. 

"It's a trap," she called to him, after running around a corner to find him crouched by a rubbish skip. She had lost sight of the rest of them after the Doctor had told them all to get the hell back out of the evacuation zone. He'd not bothered trying to send her with them, though she could see the desire to clearly. It was plain in the mournful, guilt ridden look he'd given her before he touched her cheek and pulled her along after him. 

"You don't think I don't know that?" he said with grim amusement, lips quirked in a humourless smirk. He looked up at her, eyes going soft for a moment before the mask of a battle-worn soldier fell back into place. There was centuries of bitter experience behind the disdain in his voice as he continued. "Cernunnos should've known that there's one thing you don't ever put in a bloody trap."

"Yeah?" Rose inquired as she crouched down beside him, watching as he was hurriedly splicing wires and connecting them at a rapid pace. There was the familiar whirring of the sonic as he connected the last detonator cap and the timer and wrapped black tape over the whole of it.

"A pissed off Time Lord who's dealing with the aftereffects of a metacrisis," he bit off, surveying the buildings around him. In a more moderated tone, he said, "Now, if I'm not mistaken, the building we need is that one over there. We've gone all the way around it and we're coming at it from the back entrance."

These were moments of hell for him. The rift energy making the hair on the nape of his neck on end. The surge of what he could tell was purely human adrenaline flowing through him. Lactic acid making his overtaxed muscles quiver and shake as the full implications of a human endocrine system and its effect on metabolism and endurance were made clear: the slight tunnel vision as he pushed his breathing into a forced rhythm, even as this horribly inefficient single heart pounded its pulse in his temples. 

Never in all his lives had he truly understood the advantages of dual vascular system with a respiratory bypass over the standard human cardiology and lungs. Empirical evidence was vastly different from actual experience. Like the difference between bananas and pears. _Bloody hell_ , he thought. _No wonder this lot pops off so easy._ He briefly considered just breathing at the rate his body demanded, but his pride wouldn't let him. Not when he looked over at Rose. So beautiful, she was, eyes shining with her absolute faith in him. _My stars, and I had the nerve to condemn Jack as a con artist. Who in the name of Omega am I kidding? I'm the worst one of them all._

Didn't the guilt flood him then, to be brutally quashed as he stood to walk towards the warehouse before him. He was resigned to this now, anxious for an end to the running, too mentally and physically drained to linger any more. The rusted door hanging off the hinges seemed to fill his vision, consciousness heightened far more than it had been since he'd awakened on the grating of his console room. The whole of reality seemed to zero in on this one alley with it's uneven cobbles, broken glass crunching under his boots and Rose at his back. 

He drew more comfort and strength from her presence than he could ever tell her. She was his reason to go on fighting, though saying "You made me better" didn't half cover it. He was still more shattered and worn than he'd ever dare show, but for her he'd try. For her he'd keep soldiering on and pretending it was easier than it looked, in the hope that maybe someday he could believe it, too. It was easy to believe there was still good, still enough decency, left inside when she believed it of him. It was enough to try to be the man she obviously thought he was, to try not to be what he knew he really was. 

Time itself seemed to slow, a trick of his perception from his oxygen starved brain, rather than through any actual efforts of his own. He saw, almost in slow motion, the ebb and flow of seconds and milliseconds passing with every firing synapse and neuron that sent signals to the nerve endings of his limbs. Worlds dying and being reborn as he strode forward purposefully. Arms swinging slightly, left hand clutching the bomb tightly, right holding the sonic screwdriver as...

A very loud, indignant voice snapped him out of his reverie, halting him in mid-step with an, "Oi! Spaceman! What the hell is all this about? Do you bloody well know what you've done to the traffic around here?!"


	26. Chapter 26

26 

A day that I'll never miss....

He couldn't help it. He momentarily froze in shock, feeling Rose turn in sudden surprise behind him. Quickly recovering, the Doctor whipped his head around, the warehouse door that was less than twenty feet ahead forgotten for the moment. This could not be happening. Of all the times. Just when he was about to go get this over with, another one of those silly little humans would come running in to get in the way. Always.

"I cannot believe you! Telling me all about what you were planning, telling me you absolutely needed my help, then you fob me off with babysitting a flipping alien loofah! What do you take me for, an idiot?!" 

Donna was in full on lecture mode, not to be dissuaded either. But he could always hope, couldn't he? He quite liked hope. Especially since this was not the time for this, he thought, exchanging a bewildered look with Rose. She looked more amused than she had any right to be -- looking all smug, like the only Time Lord metacrisis in all of the multiverse getting told off was funny. Maybe she was just grateful for this brief respite from the challenge ahead. 

"Donna," he grated, hoping against all possibility of stopping her mid tirade.

"Don't 'Donna' me, you little fiend! Now, what the hell is going on? It took me four bleeding hours to find you in this manky little alley, so you better spill it," Donna snapped, shaking a finger at him and walking closer. "I cannot believe you put up with him!" she said to Rose in a tone of disbelief. "And you--"

"We haven't got time for this," he protested. "You've got to get out of here... Rose, tell her. She isn't going to listen to me."

Donna gave them a wide-eyed look, conveying that she clearly thought they both might've gone around the bend, too. This was just too much. Way beyond her job description. How the Vitex heiress had ever gotten herself tangled up in this -- but no, she seemed steady, like this was all old hat. Who were these people, really? Even if Gramps and his friends believed that whole parallel world thing -- didn't mean she'd not had her reserves about this. They seemed nice enough, if a bit barmy, and he clearly needed someone to tell him the rules and then make him stick to them. 

A sudden noise drew the Doctor's attention back to the door that he'd briefly turned away from. The rusty hinges let out a curiously quiet sound of protest as it opened. The nagging feeling of something missing was resolved as the thing that used to be Ferguson stepped out into alley. With a sinking feeling, he knew time was running out -- if it hadn't already -- as he put himself between the human servant and the two women behind him. For once, being so slim isn't a good thing, he thought. Never thought I'd ever wish to be back in my sixth incarnation, but I would have made a better shield then, with the extra pudge I had about the middle. 

Then Rose was elbowing him in the back, trying to get his attention, but he didn't dare look away from Ferguson, who had yet to speak but whose face was twisted in a caricature of a smile. Her voice was tight with alarm as she said, "There's more coming up behind us, Doctor. We're trapped."

Donna had never seen anything like it in her life. That man that had just come out of that rundown building was glowing blue and he certainly didn't look right. Almost like-- 

"Omigod! What the hell is that thing?"

"Human servant -- one of the people Cernunnos took over," the Doctor said in a low, urgent voice, eyes not leaving Ferguson. "Don't let them touch you!"

"Who--"

They were well and truly boxed in, with the enemy in front and behind, and not even a fire ladder conveniently located for a handy ready-made escape route. Things were about to get very complicated, but this was it. He had no choice. Bad enough he had Rose in danger, but Donna too. After all the help she and her family had given them and it wasn't even his Donna, not really. Not like he had a good track record with the Donna Nobles of the multiverse -- didn't want to ruin this one's life, either. 

"Time Lord -- we see you," it intoned. 

He reached into a pocket, fumbling around blindly until he found what he needed, ignoring the jeering voice of Cernunnos. Hands, hands. He needed more hands, he thought as he shoved the bomb into Rose's waiting hands. "Take this. Ooh, yes. Trade you?" he said, finding what he was looking for.

"We see you... and your little companions. How good they'll taste when we take their flesh as our own," Cernunnos continued, trying to goad him into doing something rash. 

Rose looked at the Doctor with uncertainty, recognizing what he held immediately, more bothered by that than the ancient entity that had slipped back into a reality it had never belonged in. "But -- you promised."

He looked at her then, eyes dark and pleading, no more pleased with this than she was. "I know, but I'm sorry. There's no other way. There's no choice, for either of us," he said, pocketing the sonic so he had a hand free for the moment. He pushed a stray lock of hair out of her face, trying to memorize her features, as he kept himself between her and Ferguson. He silently thought the words of absolute adoration he hadn't found the courage to say more eloquently than just the short simple version. Doing this hurt more than she'd ever know. "You've got to get Donna out of here. She's never been around anything like this before."

"Come with us," she begged, knowing the answer already, even as she watched Ferguson moving aside, as if to let something else pass through. She knew that would only happen if he laid down the principles and standards he held himself to. 

"I can't. You know that." The first hints of fear had crept into his voice, along with the anguish. They both knew the teleporter had effected him badly before and Cernunnos' had to be stopped before anymore people died. "I'm sorry."

Rose reluctantly nodded, pulling away and taking the modified Vortex Manipulator and putting it around her wrist. It looked like he would be getting what he'd wanted in the first place, even if he'd supposedly changed his mind since. "I'll--"

"Grab Donna and go," he barked, pushing her back, as something else stepped out from the doorway. Something far more terrible than the human servants. "The coordinates are already set."

Dark tattered and fraying robes shrouded it, the cowl fallen back to reveal a mask made from human hide, the original features blurred and muted in the glow from within that showed through where the eyes, ears, nose and mouth had been and around the rents in the torn flesh. The Old One had tried forcing itself into flesh-form, its body of pure energy burning up the human servants too quickly for its purposes. Taking dead flesh as a means to clothe its form in this way was barely any better, since the smell of rot and decay was strong in his nostrils. Cloying and heavy, it was another time he was glad his sense of smell was no longer as acute as it had been -- bad enough he could still tell that various sections of the thing before him had been dead for several weeks at least. 

"I'm not going to leave you," she said, as a last attempt to protest. 

"Rose -- there's no time. Just take Donna and get her out of here. I love you, but go. Now!" His voice was almost choked with emotion, strained with tension as the undead grew closer. 

The worst of the horrors hadn't even come out of the building yet. He could feel their presence. Cernunnos was casting its consciousness about, trying to find a foothold on these mortals psyche- and he was the only one with any kind of telepathic shielding against this kind of attack. A massive headache was building from the strain of trying to shield himself while still leaving holes in his mental walls to act as an incentive to lure the Elder God's attention away from Rose and Donna. All he knew was he couldn't hold up much longer, and they'd all be lost then. 

Rose stumbled back, seeing his abruptness for poorly disguised panic and feeling the echo of it herself as the very air seemed to get heavier by the second. She knew it was Cernunnos causing the air of oppression and power that the atmosphere in the alley was fairly crackling with. The creatures seemed to pulse with the rippling rift energy that was now starting to cascade down over the building. The outline of the stolen portable rift manipulator could be seen through the doorway, in between the shambling beings. Everything was too bright, burning things into retinas in the strange, otherworldly cerulean glow, bolts crackling off the main flow of the energy coming down from the sky to strike around the brick walls. She had no other option, she had to do what he said. 

Donna was standing stiffly in shock, mutely looking from the creatures coming at them from the other end of the alley to the worse ones ahead. It had her speechless as she tried to process that there were these things coming at them. All these lightning bolts besides, and why hadn't they been electrocuted with all that and the sparks flying through the air? That voice! That wasn't anything natural, either. And there was Rose, running towards her. Had one of them suddenly got some sense and were just finally trying to get the hell out of here. "It's no use going that way, Sunshine," she said, finding her voice as Rose grabbed her arms. "There's even more of them behind us."

"I know that." Rose's inflection was brisk, hurried. She looked back at the Doctor, anxiety and reluctance writ plain on her face. "How're you--"

"Don't worry about me. I'll find a way out," he replied, voice suddenly soft. Hoping that if fate had decided to be it's cruelest, she'd remember the love in his eyes when he said this. That she'd eventually understand and forgive. If it all goes pear-shaped, at least he could die knowing she was safe, and so was this Donna. 

"Will someone tell me what exactly is going on here?" Donna asked, striving again for an answer. She had to try, even if it didn't appear like anyone was listening. 

Rose nodded, mutely, deciding to hell with his plans. She was going to try some slight of hand and put the Vortex Manipulator on Donna and pretend to be holding on so when he tried sending them off, she'd stay. She knew this wasn't something he should have to stand against on his own. 

"I promise," he repeated, with gritted teeth as he covertly drew the sonic screwdriver out, keeping it hidden as he engaged the setting to start the Vortex Manipulator remotely, and get Rose and Donna to safety. He'd been seen enough over the years to know what Rose was going to try to do. He also knew her. As much as he admired her sense of loyalty and bravery, this was no place for someone who was completely human. Not that it was one for a full Time Lord, either. But at least he stood a snowball's chance in hell of lasting long enough to finish this. "I'm sorry."

Her protest and Donna's questions rang in his ears after they vanished. Even over the roaring of the rift energy and Cernunnos' shout of anger. 

 

 

The alarm was raised on the barricades when masses of people suddenly appeared in the streets beyond, staggering and inexorably making their way towards the soldiers, police and field agents waiting. Pete deduced that these were the masses of 'zombies' that Jake and the others had spoke of. These were also far less coordinated than Robinson had been, Cernunnos' effort at controlling so many showing in the stumbling gait they all had. 

"Hold your fire and get those barriers all the way back into position," he called, a gut instinct telling him to wait as long as possible. He didn't want to start the bloodshed when there was still a chance the Doctor could free all these people from this. They were still citizens of London -- or at least, they had been. 

"But we'll be overrun," DI James O'Connor protested, another time he had made his derision of Torchwood's methods and motivations plain. He pushed his riot helmet back and wiped his brow that was wet with sweat from the stress of the day with its exertions. 

"Stand down," Inspector Jacobson reiterated, saving Pete from having to repeat the order. They'd come in when the information had been leaked that their lead suspect in the unsolved murders was involved in this mess. 

Pete gave the man a nod of gratitude, turning his attention back to the oncoming hordes of the possessed undead. One thing, atleast this was scaring the crowds of ever-present rubberneckers enough so they were backing away slightly. Thank God for small mercies, he thought just as there was a flash of light and two women appeared. That's when the real chaos started. So far, this was shaping up to be the longest day of his life. 

 

 

Rose still had her mouth open to protest the Doctor's actions and his seeing right through her own deception, when the alley disappeared in a flash of light and she found herself collapsing in a pile on unfamiliar pavements. Donna was sprawled out next to her, already complaining about the landing. 

"What the hell was that? Did you just -- where the hell are we?" she demanded, already sitting up. "Oi, Blondie, don't think I don't know you're in collusion with that nitwit boyfriend of yours--" Then, suddenly seeing they were surrounded by bewildered soldiers and police, she snapped, "Who the hell are you?"

Rose hadn't had a chance to even come up with a response to any this tirade, pleasantly surprised when she heard Pete speak from behind her. It gave her a chance to look around and assess their location. They were well behind the concrete barriers she'd expected would've been put up during the evacuation to keep people from getting back in. Hundreds of field agents and military personnel were gathered, with hundreds of civilians with mobiles at ready behind another row of barricades.

"Pete Tyler, Torchwood, ma'am. And you are?" Pete looked slightly flustered, wondering where Rose had found another noncombatant inside the emptied section of Shoreditch. He moved to pull Rose into his arms to comfort her, even as she was trying to pull away to look back in the direction they'd come from. 

"Donna Noble, thank you very much." Donna was only momentarily mollified. "Don't think you being all rich and famous gets you off for this. I want some answers and I want them now. You can't just go popping people from one place to the other without asking them. Now what the hell were those things?"

"Please, ma'am, there's a situation, as I'm sure you can see-" Pete attempted. He tried distracting her from the slow moving mobs of undead slowly getting closer, but still on the other side of the concrete partitions. There were still yelling men training their weapons on the masses, but thankfully, still holding off from firing. 

"You think?" Donna was incredulous. 

"There's a massive gas leak--" he tried with the official version, ignoring the weary head shake Rose gave him to discourage the effort that would be wasted on this. 

"I may have been born at night, but it wasn't last night, I'll tell you that much. Spare your little story for the idiots in amongst that lot over there," Donna retorted, not believing that one on the second time around. As if hearing it in person from the man himself made it anymore credible than over the radio had. Did they think she was a halfwit, or something? She couldn't believe this. The nerve of that Spaceman and all these others that were obviously involved in this nonsense. And it was the whole Tyler family, too, apparently. The things the tabloids leave out when they do the exposés. If they only knew the half of it.

From the expression on Rose's face, she hadn't expected this either. The poor girl looked devastated, but being brave about it. A pang of sympathy and compassion swept through her and she said in a gentler voice, turning to Rose, "He surprised you with this stunt too, didn't he?"

Rose's answer was diverted by an ear-shattering roar as everyone's attention was drawn to the sudden appearance of a massive fireball in the sky that replaced the column of rift energy. Just as quickly, the approaching legions of Cernunnos' slaves dropped like puppets with the strings suddenly cut. They were now and truly dead. 

 

 

With Rose and Donna safely away, the Doctor could focus his energy on the task at hand, and the confrontation that would require his utmost attention. He had felt the wave of energy as Cernunnos tried reaching into the vortex itself to stop their escape, almost falling from the strength of the backlash as it failed. It had spread its power too far, too thin to achieve this. He'd at least been correct about that much. 

"We've still got you despite all your cunning plans, and this will be punished," Cernunnos intoned, one voice coming from all directions, the mouths of its slaves moving in unison. "We have you now."

"Yeah," he drawled out slowly as they drew ever closer -- just out of arm's reach now. "That's what you think."

They were well away from the doorway now. Apparently, Cernunnos had ignored the knowledge Ferguson had possessed as an MI5 agent before he swallowed up his consciousness. Otherwise, it certainly would have recognized what he held in one hand as he deftly flicked the switch on the timer to start the countdown. 

"Really?" he said as he feinted, gracefully dancing around the grasping hands, feeling dead fingers grabbing at the leather of his coat. "You see, you picked the wrong planet -- wrong universe, even." Another pirouette to avoid what had once been a young businesswoman. _I'm so, so sorry,_ he thought. "You picked the wrong Time Lord, even. You see, there's two of me. The other me, he'd give you an ultimatum; offer you a chance to leave of your own doing, offer you mercy. But no, of all the universes and planets, you had to pick this one," he muttered as he manoevered himself into position. 

"We are not intimidated, Time Lord, or abomination that you are. We can smell the stench of these frail, wilting mortals upon you," the monotonous voices chorused, unimpressed. 

Lining up his aim with the rift manipulator he could see inside the warehouse, he hoped he still had the throwing arm he'd once had. He'd been a force to be reckoned with on the cricket pitch in another life. He was good with satsumas, too, but this was a tad further and the configuration of semtex, detonator caps and the timer's wiring was not very aerodynamic. Should've thought of that before, but then, he'd not expected it to come out like this. 

"Oh, but you should be. I'm not the type for mercy. Too mortal for that now. Threatened the people I love -- and I'll admit that -- love. You've pushed me too far. Funny thing about love, it makes you do funny things. Terrible, dastardly things even, if you have to defend the woman you love. Things like building lovely little bombs and tossing them in random abandoned buildings -- like so," he said, throwing the bomb as hard as he could through the open door. 

Time seemed to stretch out again in the moments before the explosion, even as he shouldered his way through the hordes of human servants. Cernunnos' roars of anger were deafening. It certainly seemed to know now what exactly had just landed up against that shiny piece of machinery that was controlling its energy supply. Enough for it to be more focused in sending its undead slaves scrambling to retrieve it. _Good luck, since none of 'em got the wits left to disable it, and any tampering'll only set it off immediately,_ he thought with satisfied amusement as he ran. _Ace would've been so proud if she could see me now. Too bad she'll never know how much she taught me back then._

He felt the sudden drop in air pressure that heralded the blast wave. The headache that had been building steadily reared its ugly head now into a vicious throbbing as he drew in enough of his strength to slow his own timeline to a crawl. He pushed himself to run, lengthening his stride. A darkness was starting around the edge of his vision as a wave of light-headedness threw his balance off, making him stumble. He was in grave danger of passing out from over-straining the remaining abilities that had been weakened in the metacrisis.

 _Too far, too much,_ he thought helplessly as the outlying edge of the explosive force caught him. _Not enough of my frankly impressive Time Lord capabilities left to do this right. Not enough me and too much human in here. I can't -- no. I will not. I'm not giving up now. I promised Rose. I've come too far to give up now, not when I have this one chance. Bloody hell, I'm not going to go out like this now. I've finally got back to my Rose -- and I still haven't found the courage to even try romancing her. I'm not letting a sodding arsehole like Cernunnos end my chances of ever having a love life, damn it!_

The Doctor just barely managed to recover his footing in time to throw himself around the corner of the next building, running by the same rubbish tip he'd crouched beside to finish the bomb. That seemed like eons ago now. The wall of fire and debris erupted behind him; scorching heat bloomed around him and something struck him from behind. The teasing image of the serene, abandoned street was the last thing he saw as the looming dark around the edges of his awareness swept him under. 

 

 

Search and rescue teams were sent in immediately after Pete and Rose had convinced them there were no more explosive devises. The fire brigade was already heading in, tankers sending streams of water over the rubble to contain the inferno. Everything in the neighborhood was covered in a heavy layer of ash and dust, the pall of smoke obscuring vision and choking breath as the teams started searching for anyone living amid the disaster scene, faces shrouded in self-contained oxygen masks. 

Hundreds of soldiers, field operatives, medics, and other rescue personnel were on hand, but so far nothing but the tattered remains of Cernunnos' human servants had been found. Certainly no sign of a part human Time Lord. The barricades were partially down, even if the residents of the area weren't going to be allowed back for several days at best, a week being more likely with the amount of damage. 

People in the crowd were already volunteering to help the recovery efforts. Police were still holding them back, for fear that the untrained civilians would only end up getting injured and delaying rescue efforts. Trained cadaver dogs were on the way in, but hadn't arrived yet, so all efforts were down to the people on hand at the moment. 

Pete, Jake and the rest of her field team were all beside Rose going through the rubble, systematically throwing aside mountains of debris. They had been searching for hours, it seemed, covered head to toe in grime and uncaring of it as they searched for the Doctor. Rose didn't even consider he might not have gotten out of the way in time. No one did. They all remained silent, an unspoken agreement that speaking aloud might make the worst true. That saying anything would jinx everything, shred the remaining hope they all held onto as the hours passed without any sign of him. 

All mobiles were turned off, otherwise Pete's would've been ringing constantly. He'd fobbed the duties of speaking to the press and others to Liz Crofts. She could handle President Jones' calling for updates and reporters until they knew one way or the other where the Doctor was. Hopefully the woman had the backbone to stand up to the force of nature that was one Jackie Tyler when she arrived. It was a wonder she wasn't here now, chivvying people along to search harder than they already were. 

The search teams went through, systematically clearing areas. They were going in alternating pairs, working in shifts so no one would lose their focus or miss anything in the gloom. Every hour, they had a mandatory fifteen minute break to breathe clean air and rehydrate. All of it was because of the dangerously contaminated air in the area.

 

 

Donna had refused to leave, as had Jasper and Percy, and had taken charge of handing out bottled water and Gatorade. They all drooped a little at the head shakes of negation when they asked about finding the Doctor, but they carried on. They wouldn't give up hope until they had incontrovertible proof that all hope was lost. 

"This has got to be the longest day of my life," Percy muttered as he shouldered another ice filled cooler from the back of an army lorry. Everyone was too surprised to comment on his actually speaking for once. 

"You're telling me," Donna agreed, rubbing at her lower back to loosen the stiffness. She was glad she'd worn flats instead of heels today, or she'd have been half crippled by now. "Anyone got the time?"

"Going on half five, ma'am," supplied a young army private. 

"It seems like it should be around midnight," Jasper grunted, pushing his sweat tangled hair out of his face as he helped Percy with another container. 

"Or later," Donna said softly, wondering how she'd ever managed to get caught up in this disaster. 

"Still no sign of him?"

Donna sighed and shook her head as she handed another bottle of water to a fatigued searcher coming back for a rest. Words wouldn't help and she was too exhausted to even think clearly anymore. Certainly too tired to wonder if she'd parked far enough away from the blast zone and if her car had even survived this. 

 

 

Everyone knew they were racing against time itself. Not only because every minute that passed lessened the chances of the Doctor's survival, but also because if anyone else found him, those chances were as good as gone. They weren't going to give up, not now, not ever. Definitely going on the longest day. No one wanted to even think about the actual number of people Cernunnos had taken with him. The details of this disaster would sink in later, after they weren't numbed by shock. There would be time for mourning the dead after. Now was the time for searching for the living. 

The rift activity dropping down to barely registrable level was a major indication that whatever the Doctor had blown up had done the job. That, and seeing the column of energy collapsing upon itself in the massive cloud of fire and smoke, had been an instant indication of that. 

It seemed a monumental task, with the entire block around the warehouse leveled; not even a single wall had been left standing in this part. With the dust and smoke in the area, visibility was almost down to nil, and they were still trying to get to the street Jake and the others had been on when they'd been separated. They'd only found the battered motorcycles twenty minutes ago. It was almost time for Rose's third break when they all heard Owen yelling in the distance. "Here! He's here!"

 

 

Swimming up from unconsciousness seemed an indescribably hard task, but he pulled it off somehow. First thing he was aware of was a heavy weight against his body as he pushed against it with his remaining strength. It was harder than he expected and opening his eyes to see what it was didn't show him much. Everything was darkness. That is, until he got the bin bag away from his face. A moment of confusion before the memory of passing a rubbish skip came back. The awareness of pain came with it, unfortunately. 

Gritting his teeth and testing for mobility only brought more, but at least he wasn't trapped. That much agony also proved that at least the nerves were well and fully functional, putting paid the concerns of spinal injury and possible paralysis. _Just wizard,_ he thought as he bit back a cry of agony from trying to sit up. _I'm not even going to try figuring out my injuries. I've got to get the hell out of here and find Rose. Tell her I'm sorry. Make sure she was far enough away. Hopefully I didn't get the coordinates wrong and she didn't land in the Thames._

The Doctor had no idea how long he'd been out, or how long it took to pull himself out from behind the rubbish skip that had probably saved his life, taking the brunt of the damage. His time sense was too muddled from the remaining headache that only got worse as he nearly collapsed again when he stood. Most of the neighborhood seemed to have disappeared, too. Or at least everything behind him had. _Might've overdone it just a hair. Oops, my bad. Good thing there was nothing living in there. Ooh, I forgot. I was. I still am. And it hurts._

Only his left arm wanted to work now, the other shoulder was a ball of ice and fire and his entire ribcage had turned into burning pain that seemed to consume his world. The suspicious warmth he found when he put his one usable hand across to cradle them made his world's orbit stutter and spin madly when he pulled it back and saw blood. He almost fell again, but managed to pull himself into the mouth of an alley ahead, struggling with every agonizing step. No telling what that was from -- he didn't really care, not when he was so tired suddenly. He needed a nice long kip, then he'd go on. Go back and find Rose. 

No, he couldn't sleep. He could hear voices calling. People. Looking for him. But he just didn't have the strength and drawing that much of a breath felt like his sides would split asunder. He'd just sit down here and wait for those wonderful people to find him. They'd be along soon to patch him up. Hopefully it was Rose. _And look there, there's the street address on a conveniently informative little brass plate. Should tell somebody. But who'll I tell? No one here but us chickens. Wait... oh I should have known. Figures. 76 Totters Lane. Well isn't that brilliant._ He'd have to tell Rose about this when she found him.


	27. Chapter 27

27

Beneath the stains of time...... 

Sometimes he's adrift in a timeless sea, unmoored like a ship that's lost it's anchor. Floating through islands of varying portent that he doesn't know if they're real or just more nightmares his mind has conjured up in this indeterminate span of existence. Moments where he swam up out of the darkness to a torrent of pain, everything raw upon his nerves. Blurred faces hidden behind surgical masks and music that brought back memories that left him reeling, wondering if it was a vivid flashback as he fell screaming back into the blessed dark. Hiding again among the soothing waves on that ocean of eternity. Drifting back and forth between timelines. Past, present and future, all blurring into one. 

Glimpses of other realities intruded, where he watched events unfold before someone else's eyes while he shared their sight from inside another's mind. A shared link, a common denominator, perhaps. Another soul that was still part of his. Familiar, but oh, so different now. Falling apart and fraying at the edges; almost to the snapping point, it was. A woman's aged, careworn face; so kind and apologetic and harsh with sympathy as she foretold doom. Other fleeting sights: a place he'd never thought to see again, that filled him with joy even as he wallowed in dread. Gone, seemingly forever, it was a sight to behold. It was also something that had been gone before it was ever lost. Something that no longer belonged, its place in the cosmos forfeit at the cost of his former innocence. 

No time to mourn losing Gallifrey for a second time, there were more pressing matters at hand. A sacrifice for one ordinary man after the looming hell had once more been returned where it belonged. Even after railing against the unfairness of it all and admitting that such a long lifespan and loneliness has thrown everything out of perspective. Confessing that giving and giving and losing every time had taken its toll. Breaking the laws of time (again) to cross personal timelines to visit the people who meant so much in this incarnation. Glimpses of so many people that he's known, drawing him back through time and memory itself. So many people he's loved in his own way, so many places they've scattered to, lives changed forever by him. But it's not his place. Not here. Not anymore. His place is elsewhere, elsewhen, even. 

Somewhere beyond this ocean of madness, she's waiting. She's waiting for him, if he can ever escape this ouroborus of wafting weightlessness in the dark. And it burns. Burns so hot, consuming every atom, blazing brighter than any super nova. The other is changing, exploding in the flames of redemption even as He fights it. He doesn't want to go -- neither of them do, the purifying fire stretching far beyond the walls of the universe they both originated in. The inferno trying to tear apart and rebuild two, instead of just the one. And it was not going to work -- one could not sustain the changes, so the link had to be broken. Fully broken this time, including the tiny hidden psychic link that had remained, unnoticed by both other than in the dreams of one.

Severed it was, torn apart in the inferno that was so close, but yet so very far. 

Consciousnesses separated in full at last; the two that had been one were now individuals. No longer was one to be a mere echo of its former self, a duplicate easily dismissed no more. They would never again be confused for the other should the impossible turn out to just be improbable.

 _Worlds apart, and yet still so far, Spaceman. Worlds apart from what we both were once, when we first stole a box and ran away to explore wonders of the universe. You're changing, regenerating again -- some new man will go sauntering away. Not me, though. I'll never change, other than with age. I'm right here where I belong -- a million miles away,_ whispered a thread of awareness that was alone in itself at last, but still observing. _Let the Ood sing you to your sleep, then. I'd join in, but that's a bit beyond my range, sorry. Both of us will start again, we'll both find our way... separately, of course. I'm terrible at goodbyes, but so are you. How about you go your way, I'll go mine, and we'll both keep calm and carry on? Allons-y!_

 

 

It doesn't take long for Rose to follow the sound of Owen's voice, or for her to reach the alley where they are. The two buildings were on the outer edge of the blast zone -- in the opposite direction from where she'd been searching. It's less than a minute, even if it feels like an eternity. 

There he was, slumped against the brick wall. Curled in on himself, with Owen calmly checking for pulse and respiration. Something inside that had been waiting and expecting the worst faded as she knelt down beside him, only to come back when she saw he was unconscious and how pale he was. Pale enough to make his freckles stand out like they were painted on as Owen was carefully shifting him onto his back. 

Her voice was barely above a whisper as she reached out a hand, mercifully finding he was still warm. "No, he can't be -- he promised."

"He's alive, but that's all I can tell you at the mo," Owen said brusquely, focused on his patient. He turned and yelled, "Someone get a stretcher over here!"

Rose nodded, swallowing painfully and helping Owen to assess the damage. She could tell his shoulder was at least dislocated, if not broken, just from the look of it. She found the hand not attached to the injured arm and squeezed it, hoping for some kind of response. There was none and there blood staining the clothes on his right side, but no way to tell it's source yet.

Jake ran up then, Pete close behind, both of them shocked. Jake was waving over a team of medics while Pete was quickly coming to a conclusion. "How bad is it?" Jake asked.

"Bad enough," Owen muttered. "Hold the saline as I try to get this IV into him -- he's gonna need the fluids."

"We've got to get him out of here as fast as possible," he said, knowing the likely scenario with the political and jurisdictional wrangling that had already started. 

"I know that, mate. Wasn't planning on setting up the mobile infirmary here," Owen grumbled, bracing the Doctor's head and neck while they transferred him onto the stretcher. 

There was a reaction from the Doctor, a weak moan as his eyes opened, already searching for a certain face. "Rose," he murmured in a slurred voice before passing out again with a flutter of eyelids. 

It wasn't much, but he'd at least responded to something, though Owen had already checked his eyes with a pocket torch. "Other than being bloodshot -- they're normal. Definitely shocky. We need an ambulance now!"

"We can't '- Sally's bringing one of the jeeps in to get you all away," Pete said, 

"What do you mean?" Rose asked Pete. She looked up from where she knelt beside the Doctor, suspicion starting to rise. She wasn't surprised that this wasn't anywhere near over. She had expected there to be a lot of debriefings and reports and hard questions. But this sounded like things were going to be more complicated than even the Doctor had planned for. "Why not an ambulance? They're better equipped for this. We've got our own back at Torchwood. Dad?"

Pete pulled his adopted daughter from another universe in for a hug, attempting to comfort her. "We can't. I'm sorry, sweetheart," he murmured. "It's not safe, not for either of you. Too many people want him and we all know where you'll be. Can't have you getting hurt as well. We'll have to get you both to a safe house," Pete said softly, releasing her as Owen was putting an oxygen mask over the Doctor's nose and mouth. 

Rose nodded mutely, her reservations and concerns evident still. Her eyes going back to the Doctor. It was hard to see someone who was usually so vibrant and motile lying limp like that. 

"The Met has already tried for custody of him, before we even found him," Pete continued. "Jacobson has been making noise about it since the barricades first were put into position, before we even got everyone evacuated. UNIT and the army will be next, I'd imagine."

"Owen, listen to him," she threw over her shoulder at the reluctant medic, nodding in acceptance. Rose knew Pete probably had protocols in place for any eventuality anyone could possibly ever think of. Even some that couldn't be expected, probably. Why not? He'd handled her and her mother's unexpected arrival here what seemed like so long ago and the Doctor's arrival just weeks before, hadn't he?

"Damn it -- you can't expect me to treat him in some flat somewhere," Owen snapped, not even looking up as he started cutting off the Doctor's coat and shirt, exposing a chest that was already showing significant bruising, plus a gash that ran from low on his side and disappeared under him. "I need real equipment, not just this field med-kit here. This is going to take a lot more than paracetamol and a plaster, you know."

"Oh, my God," Rose gasped when she saw the damage, turning back and immediately returning to the side of the man she knew she loved. She reached out, but didn't dare touch him, fearing she'd only cause him pain. Seeing him like this seemed so wrong, surreal almost. 

"Shrapnel, most like. Can only hope he's had his tetanus shot," Jake said, leaning over to look. "'S a nasty one, it is. Looks like it missed anything vital."

"Won't know until we roll him -- and I'm not doing that here. Those ribs are probably all cracked. Don't want to puncture a lung. Christ on a crutch, I can't believe Pete's expecting me to do this in some dinky little flat meant for Transients," Owen complained, referring to the in-house term for alien refugees. 

Pete was already waving to Sally, who was carefully avoiding the worst of the debris piles. "Look, you've got to go. They've already lifted the airspace restrictions and there's no time to argue," he snapped. 

"But what about supplies? This isn't like when we've got a normal ET refugee situation and we're just keeping them hidden until they can be assimilated into society," Owen retorted.

"Tell me how this is all that different? Take him to the Deep Cover Bunker in Islington," Pete ordered Jake. "Everything you need should be there, and the walls are sound-proofed. It's underground."

Jake and Rose gaped slightly, knowing that was the emergency bunker that had only been an unconfirmed rumor until now. It also reminded Rose of Pete's original offer to let Torchwood hide them before Ferguson had raided the mansion. With no other choice, Jake and Owen took the ends of the stretcher, Rose holding the IV bag and the shredded remnants of the Doctor's clothes, staying close to him. 

With a sigh, Owen gave up protesting, deciding he would have to go along. Looking to Rose, he asked, "Any known allergies to any medicines or vaccines? This should've been in his file, but of course, he managed to avoid the medical eval."

"He can't have aspirin -- it'll kill him. I don't know what else, but I don't think we can risk it. We'll have to ask him when he wakes up," Rose said softly, reaching a hand out to push the hair out of the Doctor's eyes after they got the stretcher settled into the back of the jeep.

"Bloody hell! You have got to be shitting me!" Owen was well and truly horrified at last. He'd thought he was in enough of a bind with a difficult trauma case and now this wonderful bit of information came along. This was going to make the part before with the damn zombies look like a walk in the park. "I can't do surgery on someone with nothing at all to keep them from waking up or feeling it!"

Pete was amazed that no one stopped the jeep as it passed the police cordon, since he could hear Owen's loud protesting even after the vehicle was out of sight. He couldn't blame Owen either. Most doctors had the facilities they needed -- even the ones from Torchwood that were field agents. These were unusual circumstances that he hoped to have cleared up as soon as possible. Time to get to work on making that happen so his family could be safely back together again. 

 

 

The next two days had been hell on earth in Owen Harper's standpoint. The underground bunker had come into Torchwood's possession after the Cybus fiasco, having been originally built for and owned by one of Lumic's cronies who'd ended up Cyberized before they could use it to escape the horrors of that night. Set up on an open plan, it was well equipped for an emergency shelter, with plenty of food and water for a year. Sanitary facilities, five or six cots and basic medical equipment beyond what he had in his field kit rounded out the contents. Not that most of it was any use. 

He had the most difficult patient ever, with an anterior dislocation of the right shoulder, possible broken collarbone, numerous broken ribs, and a foot long gash on his side. On top of that, all the med scanners had been useless on him. Even the Aborean version that could identify everything from a common earth stoat to a Graske from a blood smear had kept giving him error messages. That or "Sample Contaminated, Try Again." That had ruled out the tissue regenerator as well, since that had to be set for specific species. Part human wouldn't cut it. 

He would've been far happier reducing the dislocated shoulder joint if he could see what he was doing. But of course, no old fashioned X-ray machine was on hand. That would've been too convenient. So he'd had to do it blind, going by feel and experience alone. Since he hadn't been able to tell if there was any ligament or tendon damage, he'd played it safe and stabilized it after with a brace.

As for the ribs, once again, an X-ray would've been nice, but he could atleast verify that one was definitely broken. He had known because one of the floating ribs had been cut off in two places by whatever had laid the man's side open. At least it hadn't taken out the kidney, severed the adrenal artery or punctured the bowel. Lucky that. Eventually, the guy would have an impressive scar to show off and a nifty story on why he'd had to have one of his ribs removed. 

The worst part was having to do the whole thing on a dining room table hastily sanitized for the occasion, with no narcotics or anesthesia, other than the bottle of nitrous oxide they'd found in a storage closet and not even a qualified surgical nurse on hand. Just Rose and Jake with their basic first aid training, and Jackie Tyler, who Pete had been neglectful to inform them that she'd be there waiting for Rose and the Doctor. At least she wasn't squeamish, even if they all looked a lovely shade of green from the nausea at seeing the end of the rib sticking out of that wound. Then came the incident that had necessitated them strapping that damned confounding patient to a backboard.

It had all been quiet. Too quiet, even. Rose had steadfastly refused to leave his side, even if she was looking like she'd be throwing up before long. Owen had hooked his iPod to a speaker they had found, putting on some music to help steady his nerves. He'd then tied on a surgical mask, the same as he'd made everyone else wear, and had leaned over with scalpel in hand as the first strains of Madame Butterfly's aria started. Like something out of a horror movie, the guy had just popped up, stared at him with wide, panicked eyes and started screaming, "No! Not again! Grace, you have to tell them. Tell them, please," before fainting dead away.

It was unbelievable! Simply amazing. He'd never seen the like of it, but atleast there hadn't been anymore interruptions of that kind. After that, they'd given him a good whiff of the nitrous, then strapped him down before he punctured a lung or his heart moving about like that. The icing on the whole shitty cake was that Jake had knocked over the iPod when he was bringing the backboard in from the closet, so he had to finish the surgery with no music. 

As for the patient, that was the weirdest vascular system he'd ever seen. There were always variations between individual humans, but that was something else entirely. He'd never really believed the stories about the Doctor who'd been there the night of the Cybermen being a time traveling alien, despite believing in parallel worlds. Much less there being two of him and that one being part human. Come on, who the hell had seen an extraterrestrial that could even pass for human? The med scanners being flummoxed and the unusual dual vascular system had finally disabused him of that belief. Even if Rose had said he used to have two hearts, that many redundant veins and arteries made absolutely no sense. 

"What the hell?! He's got what looks like two aortas -- this is unbelievable," Owen had muttered. "Are you sure it's normal for him?"

Rose had shrugged. "Dunno. The other Doctor never said much, beyond having two hearts, a respiratory bypass and being allergic to aspirin. That and the regeneration, and that was only because he was about to do it in front of me. This one, I've no clue. He said he only had one heart and couldn't regenerate."

"A respiratory bypass? What the hell is that? Don't tell me it's a second set of lungs," Owen had scoffed. 

Rose had shook her head, just as frustrated at how little either version of the Doctor had ever told her unless it was absolutely necessary and actually having to explain something really important and personal was unavoidable. Owen had let the 'regeneration' thing pass, since that would probably end up being something else that shouldn't even be possible or make any sense. He'd certainly done his share of alien autopsies and even a necropsy or two on weevils, but he'd never seen anything remotely like this. Great, surgery on an individual of unknown species that was expected to survive. So far, so good. As long as he stayed stable and there were no more complications, we'll be just fine, he'd thought. 

"I've got a pile of questions for you when you wake up, whatever you are," he had promised his thankfully once-again-unconscious patient. "I can tell you that much." 

That had only accounted for the first four hours. By then, it had been an hour from midnight and Jackie Tyler had bustled of the the kitchen area and gotten a fresh pot of tea ready for them after they'd gotten the Doctor settled on one of the beds. She had also been the only one who could persuade Rose to leave his side long enough to eat and drink something, even if it was less than a ten minute respite. 

They had all sat around trying to unwind from the stress of everything so far while Owen had hooked up the saline drip again, checked the bandaging around the Doctor's torso, and hooked up the cardiac monitor. That had proved to be the only piece of electronic equipment they had had that worked on him at all. The only thing they would've been able to use against any swelling would've some ice cubes from the freezer, wrapped in a tea towel. And that had ended up going to a different use later.

Exhausted, they had all started to settle in for some rest not long after. All of them had planned to take turns sitting up with him. Just at the stroke of midnight was when he had started waking up. The Doctor had never gotten to full awareness that night but nevertheless let out a few quiet groans of pain that had faded into a near constant murmuring that had kept them all awake for hours. There was nothing to help with the pain that was known to be safe, and they were all uncomfortable, since they'd all seen the surgery. 

 

 

Pete's night was no less long and trying. He was in meetings and conference calls until dawn just trying to convince the President to uphold Torchwood's jurisdiction. The military wanted him transferred to hospital on the base at Ramsdell, the police wanted him placed either in Broadfell prison's ICU or under guard at Royal Hope. It was a small miracle that Harriet Jones had refused to override Torchwood's authority, though Pete had given them a cover story about the Doctor being in custody at a secure location. That was true, in a way; he just wasn't in the Infirmary at Canary Wharf like he'd lead them to believe. Let them think the fifty extra armed guards outside the building meant the Doctor was actually in it. It would've done them well to remember what assuming does.

As for Rose's whereabouts, he'd said she was recovering with her family, away from the spotlight. That was also partly true. Her mum was with her, probably driving them all nuts, but at least she wasn't calling him every five minutes, was she now? Hundreds of people had seen Rose's sudden appearance by the barricades in Shoreditch, so covering that up wasn't possible, but playing on people's sympathies to distract them from asking about all the coincidences would have to do for now.

That was just part of the headaches he was dealing with. Someone in the Met had leaked the Doctor's photo to the press, along with the details of the murders and him being a suspect. That was all over the telly on the late news, along with camera footage of the dozens of Coroner's vans going in and Inspector Jacobson's statement that the scene of crime unit was in place and that there was a full investigation already underway. Add to that the fact the MP for Shoreditch had already called the President demanding that the one responsible for destroying half a city block be held fully accountable and imprisoned for such an act. Harriet Jones had started forwarding the calls to his office after the attempt to calm the hysterical MP didn't work. 

Then there were the crowd of protesters starting to assemble around Torchwood Tower, just on the other side of the barriers Pete had had the foresight to keep in place even after the building's evacuation orders had been lifted. Being prepared for anything was his usual defensive move and so far, it was working. And to think he'd thought the day was an unending one at only noontime. It still hadn't stopped and it wasn't even the same day anymore, even.

 

 

Owen wanted to let him come around so he could assess his mental state and find out if there was anything they could give him, but he wasn't coming around enough to get a coherent word out of him. Half the time it was in some language that even the translation module Jake always carried (he'd gotten it off a Judoon) couldn't translate. Rose was the only one who'd ever heard the likes of it before, saying she'd heard the Doctor speak in a language the TARDIS either wouldn't or couldn't translate. But even she'd admitted she'd never heard more than a few short phrases on rare occasions when he didn't know she was awake to hear him. 

That lasted most of the night, the small moans of pain and the almost constant muttering. Rose sat by his bedside the whole night, holding onto his one free hand, the other resting on his chest in a sling, since the brace wouldn't work with the backboard. She tried speaking softly to him to soothe him, but it only reduced it to a hoarse whispering that was still unceasing. 

Jackie remarked gently, "Always had a gob on that one. Could talk for England, he could. But this, this ridiculous." There was more kindness than annoyance in her tone, even if she had been kept awake like everyone else. 

"You alright, love?" she asked Rose.

"Yeah, Mum. I just want him to be alright," Rose said, closing her eyes so she wouldn't start crying. It had been such a long, seemingly endless day and she already felt like she could sleep for a week straight. 

"Why don't you lay down? I'll sit with him," she offered gently. 

"But--"

"Then budge up next to him. He's not going to notice and it's not like he takes up much room. Or move one of those other camp beds over beside his. It's not like you two haven't shared a bed before," Jackie said bluntly. 

"Mum -- it's not like that." Rose was glad the lights were low enough in the room to conceal her blushing. It was true, it wasn't like that yet, but they'd been heading there. She ignored her mother's snort of disbelief and stayed sitting in her chair well past the time when everyone else had finally fallen asleep. Come morning, they tried to dose him with the nitrous again to see if he'd calm down some, but found he was feverish -- or at least Owen thought he was. 

"Do you know his normal core temperature?" he asked, pressing a hand to the Doctor's sweat damp forehead. 

"No idea," Rose sighed, feeling useless and wrung out. "I didn't exactly follow him around with a thermometer, though I really wish I had now. At least we'd know."

"He's definitely way too warm. Must be the start of an infection. But of course, can't use any antibiotics on him because that would make my job simple, wouldn't it," Owen groaned.

They spent most of the day trying to reduce his fever with cold water and ice, all to no avail. 

"It's no use. We're going to have to get him in the tub somehow and fill it with ice water," Owen growled, already at his wits end. 

"You can't move him like that! All those stitches!" Jackie protested. 

"Yeah, it'll be almost impossible to get him in there with his ribs like that," Jake agreed.

"Can't we just pile the ice on him in here without moving him?" Rose asked hopefully. He was already moaning, moving him would probably wake him then, since he'd opened his eyes several times. He hadn't said anything or even looked like he recognized anyone with those fever glazed eyes, but it was an improvement. 

"We've got no choice. He keeps like this much longer, he'll be facing organ failure. That is, if extreme temperatures don't effect him, or something special of that sort," Owen retorted. He turned and stalked towards the bathroom. "I'll be back in a minute."

Rose looked down when she heard the Doctor make a drawn out groan. Something about that particular sound was tickling a memory. Something she'd pretty much forgotten, that was now strangely important now. That there was something she'd missed. 

Her mother had moved up beside her, looking just as worried and tired as she was. Jackie had been filling bowls and whatever containers they could find to fill with water to put in the icebox to freeze up for hours.

"Mum," she started hesitantly. "Remember that party we missed because your old boyfriend Jimbo didn't pick us up? When I decided to go back to the flat early."

"Yeah, vaguely. It was years ago now. Why?" Jackie asked, wondering what that had to do with anything. 

"There was a man, in the shadows of an alley on the Estate, that night." She was reaching back, trying to bring the memory into focus.

"He didn't try anything, did he?" Jackie asked sharply, just as it all came back to her.

"Mum! It was him!" Rose was insistent, knowing suddenly she was right. It had to be. 

Jackie rolled her eyes, not understanding. "Don't be daft. How could it be him? We're in a completely different universe now."

"The other him! He was there. Asked me what year it was, then told he told me he bet I was gonna have a great year. I was so stupid! I told him he should probably go home, asked him if he was drunk. He was probably hurt or dying! He risked the reapers crossing over his own timeline like that. Just to see me, and I didn't even help him."

Rose was almost in tears when Jackie grabbed her shoulders and folded her into a hug. "Well, how were you to know? You'd not even met him then. Hush now."

"Look!" Rose gasped when she looked over her shoulder, seeing something she'd been told was impossible. "No, it can't be -- he said this would never happen again."

There was a slight glow around his right hand that was still held limply across his chest in a sling. It quickly spread up his arm then across, moving to cover his entire body. Owen had run back into the room when he heard Jake shouting and Rose told everyone to stay back as she backed away herself, pulling her mother with her. They all saw his eyes pop open and heard the anguished scream of agony as the Doctor was consumed in a blinding, yellow light.

 

 

Awareness came back. He could see! Ooh, way too bright. Hurt the eyes, but everything else hurt, too. Felt like he'd taken on a lorry and lost. What? Wait, he was regenerating. And then.... _No, sorry. Wrong person. Other me was regenerating. I was diving into a rubbish tip. Now why the bloody hell was I doing that? Awfully unhygienic. Oooh, right. I remember. There was a bomb. I just blew up part of Shoreditch and all of Cernunnos. After I sent Rose away -- again. She's not going to be happy with me, even if I did apologize first. Where am I? Must find her.... Oh, there she is. My beautiful pink and yellow human, she's right here. With me. Fantastic. No, it's more than that, it's brilliant!_

"Doctor?" Her voice is hesitant, afraid, but it's the most lovely sound he had ever heard in all his lives.

"Yeah.... still me," he managed, mouth so very dry suddenly. He couldn't figure out why nothing would move and he didn't dare smile, fearing letting out any emotion would end with him bawling. Bawling because everything hurt so much, and he'd been so afraid the metacrisis would fail when the link broke, and because he is so very, very glad to see Rose standing over him. And crying like a baby isn't very manly, is it?

She touched his face gently, cautiously starting to smile. "You are."

Then a squawking voice intrudes, and there's Jackie Tyler. The most fearsome creature in all of existence. A mother protecting her child. He's amazed to find he's even happy to see her. That's twice now. Flipping hell, that's becoming a pattern. "What the hell was that all about? You scared us all half to death with that stunt."

"He's gone, isn't he?" Rose asked at nearly the same time, eyes soft. 

She already knows, he can tell. He owes her that much. The truth. "Sorry..." he managed through gritted teeth as his body felt it was the time to remind him of his injured side. Not now. Answer them both. Push it away for just a moment. Got to explain as much as I can. "Quantum entanglement.... a whole separated into two... parts are equally effected... I love you." 

Rose nodded, almost in tears over the likes of him, the silly girl. Crying over a tired old part Time Lord. "I love you too."

He is so tired from just that much effort. _So weak and puny, humans. Sleep, that's good. Total waste of time, but so enjoyable. Like now. Must sleep... no hang on. Almost forgot. Got to tell Rose. It's really important. She'll want to know. Something that even He couldn't manage to pull off._

He struggled to reopen his eyes, finally daring to smile for her. "Guess.... what?" He'd tell her his news, then he could rest for a bit.

"What?" Rose was surprised but obviously so relieved to see his eyes open again. 

"He's still not ginger."


	28. Chapter 28

28

All my cool and cold, like old Job....

When he woke again, it was the slight chill in the air that roused him from the depths with a short period of disorientation. At some point, they'd rolled him on his side -- the good one, the one that wasn't an entire planetary system of pain -- and the restraints were gone. That dimly remembered part about pleading with people in surgical masks must've been more than just a dream. Probably scared the stuffing out of the doctor. Poor chap. If he only knew what it was like. 

All systems seemed to be functional, if extremely sore. Time sense still as fuzzy as ever since the Metacrisis, telepathy -- well no polite way to test that, was there? Though it seemed that backlash of regeneration energy had helped speed healing, even if it hadn't finished the job. Either too much human DNA constricting the pathways, the connection hadn't been strong enough, or it was just dumb bad luck. The ribs were still sore and probably very colorful. But no pneumothorax or any other major complications. The shoulder was -- forget trying to move that. Just thinking about it was making it hurt, and the ribs and his side chimed in in sympathy at his aborted attempt to curl up against the pain. Oooh, no running, _Venusian Aikido, or cricket for awhile,_ he thought with a wince. _Moving any portion of my anatomy below the neck is probably not going to be fun either. Heh, I can still talk then. Just try stopping me. And tea! I can drink tea. Could do with a banana, to think of it._

A moment to assess his location: higher humidity than normal, filtered air, and the slight hint of mildew. Underground bunker, then. The sounds of voices some distance away reminded him of what had happened -- all of it, when all the nerves woke up. From the sounds of it, they were using a communication device and it sounded like Pete was on the other end of the conversation. Right -- as if he'd even bothered to hope that getting rid of Cernunnos would end things. Optimism now seemed like it was likely to be one of his dafter concepts.

Add #385 to the list of things that were much better with a TARDIS. Consequences. All actions have an equal and opposite reaction. Outside of physics, and applied to the natives of any given planet, space station, or moon -- resolving issues with things going boom results in pissed off natives of said planet, space station, or moon, and the extent of the damage is in direct proportion to the pissed off natives. The appropriate method of dealing with the pissed off natives who were in gross disturbance over the afore mentioned object going boom resulting in catastrophe, was to run. Promptly. Going like hell, beating feet, getting out of Dodge, and his favorite axiom, making like a banana and peeling out of there were all valid alternatives. Rush in, save the day, and leave before they could give him thanks, or the repair bill. Now he'd have to stick around to see the aftermath and answer those sticky inconvenient questions. So not good. 

He wondered how many were already calling for his blood or, at the very least, wanting some very good explanations. And the people that always went demanding those explanations were never the type that would actually be happy with said explanations. "Never you mind" and "exodimensional non-corporeal entity exorcism via controlled explosion tempered with the implosion of a dimensional rift manipulator" would equally cause dissatisfaction. Humans. Save their lives, get banged up, and they'd still be complaining you broke their best china and ruined their curtains. No making some people happy, was there?

He couldn't help the small groan that escaped him, or the way he flinched from the light when he finally opened his eyes. At least he'd been quiet enough to not attract a crowd of worried onlookers. Especially since the chill in the air was heightened by the fact he was shirtless. Something that would've bothered him a lot more if it didn't feel like he'd been shot by that damn Dalek again. Right, he was a complicated event in time and space and that was what some would either call karma, bad luck, or Murphy's Law. He didn't believe in any of those, since either things would be a lot worse, or a lot better. It was a nasty reminder of his last clear memory before he'd been waking up starkers, before the Crucible, Bad Wolf Bay, and all this.  
He wasn't sure what it was. At the moment, it was hard to find something that was on the 'worse' scale, because he distinctly remembered Jackie Tyler being here earlier. He had no shirt, and everything hurt too much to consider checking how far the state of undress went. Last thing he needed was snarky comments or worse, ogling. No repeats of that episode again. Not happening. Though that could be part of why she'd slapped him the next time he'd seen her. That bore some deep considering, that did. Then again, Martha's mother hadn't been too impressed, nor Donna's, either.

What was it with the mothers? He was perfectly charming wasn't he? Suave, debonair, courteous -- no, hang that. He was always rude, but that was just him. But otherwise, a right gentleman he'd been. Other than the last 27 days, since he'd discovered human hormones -- testosterone, namely -- tended to have a strong influences on thought patterns. Very disturbing, obscene thoughts, even. Thank goodness for the distractions of the Old Ones, or he'd definitely deserved a slapping by now. Jackie had always thought he was a perv in a blue box -- it wouldn't do to go making her think she'd been right all along. Thank goodness for alien invasions, saving him from improprieties. Some day, he would muster the courage to ask Rose the question that occurred to him then. Someone had changed him from jeans and leather to Howard's jimjams on a Christmas day years before, and now he really, really wanted to know that it wasn't Jackie. 

To top it all off, he realized he had to pee. Badly. No amount of focusing was going to make inefficient, mostly human kidneys recirculate the excess fluids or take away the urge. No amount of wishing, crossing eyes, trying to slow -- or speed up -- time, or plain old mind over matter was going to help. No wonder all his companions had made an immediate beeline for the loo once they got back to the TARDIS after an adventure. 

_Distractions, distractions... Superior Time Lord brain, I'm very good at mind over matter. Find something to focus on... Ah, happy primes, good distraction there. Keep my mind off things for a bit. 7, 13, 19, 23, 31, 79.... got to go... 97, 103, 109, 139... Rassilon, it's not going to work. Bloody flipping hell! So that's why they always wandered off, no matter how many times I told them not to, he thought in dawning horror. Oh, the calamity of it all. Natural curiosity and inconceivably small bladders had probably been the root cause of so much trouble over the centuries. Too bad the psychic link was broken, because that would save other me so much vexation if he only knew. My word, no wonder Donna said I was an idiotic Martian. Add that to the new list of rules. Everyone -- including me, now -- is required to have a pee break before leaving the new TARDIS. That, or we pop over to the 67th century to have all passengers' urinary systems augmented. Until that time, I've really, really got to go...._

Stifling a groan, he started the strategic planning required to move before half of his body realized what was going on. First, legs: slide them over edge of the cot, while using intact left arm as a lever, leaving the right arm unmoved and braced, and keeping the spine as straight as possible to prevent any sideways flexion. Second: scan area for any attentive, nosy people concerned about his welfare that would promptly interfere and provide him with a jug or bed pan instead. 

As painful and awkward as it was, he was not about to piss in a bottle in an open room. To hell with that -- he still had all the pride and decorum of a Time Lord. He'd keep his dignity, even if he'd lost all his clothes other than his boxers. Good thing he'd remembered what his mother always told him and worn clean pants. The world wouldn't implode because he was seen in dirty undies, but he might just do from mortification. And the blood stains around the elastic waist from getting injured didn't count, did they? Not like he'd had time to put on clean ones. Thank goodness for the sheet he'd grabbed, in case his little venture was intercepted and someone looked him over too carefully. 

One wobbly step and another took him to a wall, where he paused to consider if he had the wherewithal to make it the remaining four meters to the open door that his olfactory sense told him the presence of chlorinated water and logic told him was likely to be the loo. Shoddy design, that was, putting the loo on the other side of the bloody room. _Who designed this place,_ he complained to himself. Though it really would be his luck if it wasn't that, and was just a cupboard, then he'd have to hope no one noticed the puddle he'd end up leaving if he lost his balance again and gave up on the effort this was taking. Bad enough the whole feeling the earth's rotation thing- while it was a comfort in knowing some senses were returning -- was bugger all for help with his inner equilibrium. 

_Always perfect timing to the universe, Theta. Things come tumbling back, just in time to improve the likelihood of me going arse over elbow and getting all the attention I don't want, just when I'm guaranteed to be the most embarrassed. Fan-flipping-tastic. Just a little further. It's a toilet, not the top of Everest. I can make it. Just a few steps more -- come on, old man. Yeah, I think I'll be the first to admit I'm not exactly on top of my game when getting to the loo is tantamount to climbing the highest mountain on the planet,_ he grudgingly admitted to himself when his hand finally brushed the wooden panel. _Ah, the relief..._

 

 

Owen was not impressed when Pete said it would probably be another day before he could successfully negotiate with the police, UNIT and the government so they could all get out of this bunker. He was beyond ready to be back to his regular life, where for all the usual strangeness he dealt with at Torchwood, he had the proper facilities for his patients. It was nineteen hours since he'd gotten into this place that would probably haunt his nightmares. Nineteen hours with two of the Tyler women, both of whom were currently talking to Pete on the Comms unit, and Jake, who was jumpier than hell and watching the main door attentively. And this weird patient who was prone to waking up screaming and glowing... Bloody hell, he could add disappearing to that list of fine qualities displayed so far. 

"Jake! Have you seen him?" he hissed in an undertone. 

"Who?"

"Who the fuck do you think? The bloke I just patched together before he started doing a damn good impression of a frigging incandescent lightbulb over there," Owen said softly, waving a hand to the empty bed.

"You lost the Doctor?" Jake was incredulous. "How could you just lose him? You don't just misplace people."

"Keep it schtum -- do you want to be explaining it to those two over there that we managed to lose an alien hybrid in a locked bunker?" Owen snapped, looking back to where Jackie was asking about her little boy and Rose was trying to find out which MP had lodged the complaints. 

"You mean you lost him," Jake retorted. "I'm in charge of security. He didn't go out past me, so he couldn't have gone far."

"He shouldn't have gone anywhere! D'you think maybe they beamed him back up?" Owen asked hopefully. 

"Not from what I know of him. Hard to imagine two of him, much less any more like him. Don't think the universe could handle a pile of people like him." Jake looked around then. "Toilet just flushed -- did you check the bathroom?"

"There's no bloody way he could've..." Owen started to protest when the bathroom door opened. There, to his shock and horror was his patient, all six feet of sheet wrapped, swaying patient that he and Jake barely caught in time before he keeled over. The man looked pale enough to blend in with the sheet, and as unsteady as a newborn foal as he gave them a weak smile.

"Hiya, Jake! And Owen, glad to see you, even if this isn't exactly a wonderful occasion. Oooh, bit woozy there..." the Doctor said, wincing suddenly and leaning on Jake heavily. "Hurts a bit. Legs aren't so good at the mo. Made it to the loo on time, though."

"Why can't you be a normal patient?" Owen said, exasperated. "Get you back to your bed." Getting the Doctor back was harder than expected, since he was heavier than he looked. A quick check to see if the sutures were intact -- surprisingly, they were -- and then he pulled the blankets back over him. "Is there anything you can actually take for the pain? I've got morphine here."

"Yeah, should do... just probably need more than the amount usual for a human," the Doctor muttered. 

Jake gave Owen a questioning look. "You're gonna actually give him drugs? You probably will want to tie him down again, because I can just imagine what we're in for."

"Teach you to go wandering off like that," Owen muttered, ignoring Jake. He'd already considered that, and was hoping he'd get the dosage right to atleast prevent any more excursions. "Most people who've had major surgery aren't tottering around like that. I'll tie you to the backboard again if you won't stay put. And what the hell was the light show for?"

"Other me... regenerated," the Doctor said from between gritted teeth as he settled back onto the bed. "We were still linked."

"You mean that part's not just a rumor?" Jake said, surprised, grabbing Owen's medkit.

As he readied the syringe and swabbed the crook of the Doctor's arm, Owen said, "There's two of you? Bloody hell, just kill me now if there's any chance of the other you showing up."

"Impossible. Well, more improbable, really. As for there being two of me, that's easy to explain. Two roads diverged and I couldn't take both and be one traveler," he said, ignoring the pinch of the needle. Seeing the incomprehension on the other's faces, he tried explaining it better. "Do you know in geometry, when two lines meet, they share a vertex? A convergence point, if you will, creating a vertical or opposite angle. They are considered of equal measure. And perhaps fate, or the universe, since everything that exists is aligned to mathematical strictures..." Seeing the blank stares from Owen and Jake, he sighed and said, "There is two of me because there just is. That's why. No worries, mate."

Soon the Doctor was drifting along on narcotic laced clouds, Rose was by his side, and Owen had gotten a scolding from both of the Tyler women for not keeping a better eye on him. He was obviously not feeling any pain and atleast there was the hope he'd fall asleep. Soon. Bad enough he seemed to be some kind of lunatic, but the morphine only made him babble more. Not that any of them really knew what it meant, since it mostly seemed to be random numbers he was reciting, trying to explain something about happy numbers. How could numbers be happy? It was impossible enough being happy in here, much less thinking about maths. Definitely the most difficult patient ever. Owen was now considering a career in research medicine. No actual patients to deal with, just test tubes, lab rats and things that generally didn't roam away or talk incessantly. And wait... no... was he singing now? _Bloody hell, this was going to be one hell of a long night._

 

 

Pete thought things were bad enough with the politics and everything else, but at least he could finally go home for the night soon, all meetings postponed until the different branches of the military and UNIT stopped squabbling over their own policies and protocols. Maybe things would look brighter in the morning. At this rate, he figured he had a better than even chance of hoodwinking them all into holding off until the Doctor could explain things. Or more likely, the Doctor could talk enough to confuse them into inaction or complacency. Either would do. 

Then Donna Noble and her grandfather showed up in his office, having sweet talked and blustered their way in. Donna was carrying what looked like a rock in a tub with wires stuck in it. Pete immediately recognized the redhead from the day before. The older gentleman looked rather familiar as well.

"Where is he? Where are you hiding him?" she demanded. "I know you lot have him, so don't try telling me different."

"Donna--" Wilf tried to calm her down. He smiled apologetically. "Sorry about my granddaughter, Mr Tyler, she's just upset. We're all a bit worried about the lad and he left his pet with us and hasn't come back for it. We're all thinking he's been hurt, since we've not seen him or his lady friend. Rose is such a sweet girl, always concerned about him and he's not been so well himself."

Pete was surprised, but he decided to reassure them. "Just call me Pete. We've all been going out of our heads, but they're both safe. He's been hurt, but the physician taking care of him said he's going to make a full recovery and Rose hasn't left his side," Pete said, watching Donna eye him with suspicion. 

"So you say. How do we know that's not just some story you've come up with to hide the truth? How do I know you've not got him locked away in some secret laboratory somewheres?" Donna said consideringly.

"Yeah!" Wilf agreed, remembering some of the conspiracy theories regarding Torchwood. "You lot are all into fighting aliens, and he's just some poor defenceless chap whose ship ain't even ready to fly yet! He's stranded here, the poor fellow."

"I know," Pete said, realizing there might be a way to smooth things out. Through the court of popular opinion. Wouldn't have been possible if the Doctor had actually managed to blend in, instead of being the odd duck he usually was. "He lives with my family, or he did before all this nonsense started up."

"You, the Vitex millionaire founder, have a bleeding alien living with you and dating your daughter? The things the papers leave out!" Donna said, grinning. The Doctor had said Pete was to be trusted, but she wasn't going to take that numpty's word on it. Considering he'd made some friends that would worry anyone -- that blighter Marcus, to say the least. 

Pete chuckled. "I think he's probably the only one who hasn't figured out exactly what he's planning with Rose. And right now, they're not going to be doing much, what with him hurt and half the army and police ready to lock him away for life."

"Crazy as a bedbug as he is, I'm not going to stand by and let the skinny little loony get locked away. He kinda grows on you, after awhile. Him with his daft plans, and Rose being half crazy about him. She's got to be almost as barmy as he is, just for putting up with him," Donna sighed, shaking her head. Finally deciding Pete had passed her own tests, she took a more direct route. "So what can we do to help?"


	29. Chapter 29

29 

Connect the space between.....

Rose sat with him as the narcotics took effect. It had been hard for him to find a comfortable position, even with the morphine to dull the pain, and he was obviously resisting the urge to sleep. Instead, he seemed to be holding on to wakefulness with a desperation she'd only glimpsed briefly before. At first, he was babbling away about happy primes and singing her a song that would supposedly help her to remember them. After Owen complained, he'd gotten more maudlin, opening up enough so she ended up wondering if it was the drugs tearing down his inhibitions or if it was just the stress catching up with him finally.

"Pipe down over there! You just had surgery, no driving us all mad with your excessive cheer," Owen snapped. He was in a foul mood, as normal for him. He was doing an inventory on the remaining supplies in his medkit and whatever had been on hand in the storage closet. 

The operation had used up most of the available bandages and clean linens, as well as all of the disinfectant. Owen had been amazed that all signs of the infection had been cleared up, but the Doctor had said it was from the effects of the regeneration energy feeding through the walls between worlds. Rose couldn't help but wonder the full implications of that, finding herself with questions she didn't quite know how to ask. 

"Oi!" the Doctor protested. "I think I've earned my right to enjoy my narcotic induced euphoria, thank you very much. Saved the world, I did. And very brilliantly, too, if I might say so myself. Had to go assembling my own bomb with shoddy 21st century materials. Wasn't I impressive, Rose?"

Rose smiled fondly and agreed. "You were, but maybe you should rest now. Get your strength back, yeah?"

He laid back readily despite his mild grumbling, growing tired already. Despite her best efforts, Rose had only gotten him to drink part of a cuppa and he'd eaten half of a protein bar. He was still pale, but the lines of his body and face had relaxed into something approaching peace. 

His eyes were dark and seemingly ancient but unshuttered as he looked up at her. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I scared you and sorry for sending you away," he said softly. "I didn't have much choice, but for what it's worth, I am sorry."

"You better be," she said firmly. "Don't think I'm going to forget that one, either. I've got you figured out, Doctor."

"Yeah, well," he drawled out, a small smile drifting over his features. He looked pretty satisfied with himself, considering the circumstances.

"Where were you?" Rose asked, suddenly daring to ask. "When you were dreaming, you went somewhere, saw something. Where'd you go?"

He gave her an appraising look, mouth opening silently before he closed it deliberately. His expression became more thoughtful as he visibly gathered the words inside. She could see he was getting ready to answer, something she knew could be as damning as it was redeeming, even if she wasn't sure who would be damned and who would be redeemed. She almost stopped him, told him to leave it, but she couldn't make herself. This Doctor, her Doctor, was the one who was more likely to tell her the hard truths. 

His eyes darted about, looking to see who was likely to listen in before he spoke. "It was a bad one, Rose." His voice was barely audible. Words hushed but not pained, just matter-of-fact and slightly hoarse from disuse. "He waited too long, didn't want to go, and it almost resulted in disaster. Nearly took the TARDIS out with him; really played havoc with the console room and engines. That's bound to have consequences in future, damaging the engines and all. He could've ruptured the core structure of the universes, holding off like that. Let's hope it won't be destroying all of reality when the damage comes due," he muttered, eyes distant. They were focused on something far away and unseen. Something far beyond the realms that humans could see.

He was turning over his own thoughts out loud, she realized, loving him more for the degree of honesty he could give her while the other hadn't been able to. 

"What happened?" she asked. 

He swallowed, throat bobbing as his gaze grew more distant, remembering snippets of horrors and deeds that would give him nightmares and probably feed his guilt complex for years. Guilt by proxy. If there were two of you, and one did something they really shouldn't, was the other equally responsible as well? Were you both doomed to pay the price for it?

 _No way to express what it had been like to see those things through the mental connection, to feel whole again for those shining timeless moments. No way that she'd have been able to understand what it was like then and the differences between that and the watered down senses I've got in this body,_ he thought. _No way without confusing the issue or making her think I'm not me. I still am, I'm just half of what I was. And oh, what it was to be that again! To feel the turn of the universes around me without trying; to see the timelines shining bright and clear; aware of all that was, all that is, all that could be. For a moment I was a god again, and now I'm just this.... Neither one nor the other. Like Prometheus on his rock, stuck remembering and regretting those moments. I regret them. I do. Even if I wouldn't trade this opportunity for anything. Other than the blood, the pain and the misery of this existence, it's worth it. For you, Rose, even hell itself would be bearable._

"I saw Gallifrey," he said in a breathy whisper. "I never thought... I saw it, and it hurt. It was far worse than I had remembered. All those memories... I could just think of it as a Fact, and it was easier to just move on. Something that happened in another life, it was. Seeing it all again... what it had become, seeing what it was like at the end... I remembered what it once was, what I'd lost. It was easy to forget when I thought of it subjectively. Forgetting the names -- the faces -- it made it less painful, less absolute and real. No so easily done now."

Rose was breathless, hanging onto every word. She'd known so little about his home world or his people. He hadn't even told her the name of his planet. Jack had, when he'd told her some of the legends about the Time Lords of Gallifrey and how most believed they were merely fairy tales. She knew what even speaking of it was probably costing him, and that whatever he'd seen through his counterpart's eyes was too big, too raw to bury down inside where it could fester. 

"It wasn't really you this time, it was him," she said, hoping to release him from it. Trying to push him just the tiniest bit towards forgiving himself for something he hadn't done, something he'd had no choice in. 

"It was me the first time, and it might as well have been this time. I was there in spirit, and he knew it. He could've blocked me from it, and I could've pushed him towards something else. Spent too long trying to outrun the Oods' summons, he did. But we both would've done the same, in the end. Just like he would've destroyed the Daleks if it had been him in the room at the time, instead of me." His voice was still oddly flat and emotionless, despite the murmur. As if letting the emotions behind the words would prove too much to bear. "My mother, I think she... understood, at least. She knew the choice I had had to make both times."

"Both?" Rose was confused. Had there been a major time-loop, or something?

"It returned. Gallifrey came back. Rassilon broke out of the time lock, used the Master's insanity... poor Koschei, he was my best friend once. Until they ruined his mind. I never even guessed... just thought he'd gone mad the usual way. That happened, sometimes. Not often, but it did. And I... He had to send them back. Couldn't let them destroy all of reality. He was prepared to die with them, but the Master... he found the courage to defy them, for once. I don't know if it was because he'd discovered some good inside himself, or if it was revenge, but he took my... His place." 

A shuddering breath and his eyes drifting shut were the only signs of the feelings going on inside. His expression was merely pensive, as if he was contemplating an Impressionist painting, not re-experiencing the loss of his planet. He might have been revealing more than he ever had, but he hadn't abandoned his hard worn shields and masking. Only the Doctor could manage to give the impression of being shrouded in armor plating when he was only wearing a sheet and a pair of pants, Rose thought with a wince. Her heart ached at the thought of what it had meant to both of him, especially the one who was alone with no one to hold his hand. 

"He'll be fine," he suddenly said in a lighter tone, eyes open again and focused on her. "He'll go on living the life, finding some new adventures and friends to show the wonders of the universe to. Don't worry about that."

He'd always been able to read her, to suss out when she was upset. Even if most of the time he'd had no clue why exactly she was upset, or why something he wouldn't even pause to think about could upset her. The sudden intuitiveness was surprising, but maybe she'd been that transparent. 

"Yeah?" she said, giving him a cautious smile, hoping he'd explain. Half hoping it wouldn't be what she was thinking. 

He returned the smile, though he feared it might've been closer to a grimace. The things he couldn't say, the things that would break her heart and his own if he acknowledged them beyond the abstract. _Don't tell her He almost lost himself after losing everything else. That He didn't want to regenerate, and wanted it all to just be done, he thought behind the crenelations of the mask he hid so much behind. Telling her would only hurt her, ruin her memory of Him and point out how little she knows of either of me. Letting her know how much the darkness He (we) bear(s) almost won out, will only break her heart. And I can't bear to hurt her again. I've done enough of that already. I'm not the one who left her on that accursed beach the second time. At least that sin is not mine to atone for, not this time. This time, I'm free of that bit of blame, even if I'm not really the one she went striding across worlds after._

"Yup," he said, popping the 'p'. "Knowing you're happy and safe here, that's what will give him the strength to go on fighting the good fight. He won't forget you."

"What about you?" she asked. "Won't he remember you?"

He allowed a hint of bitterness into the lopsided grin he gave her, his tone half teasing, half serious. "Nah, why would he? I'm a complication; much easier just to forget and move on. So many difficulties involved. Pronouns, for one. Even the Sontarans would have a hard time quantifying this one, and they're a clone race. Identity and names would be a whole other kettle of fish."

"But, the Doctor's still you," Rose insisted, repeating what she'd said on a beach almost four weeks earlier. It was jarring, the change in context. 

"Yeah, but we're far different now, he and I. Different choices, different perspectives. It's so different when you've only got one brief span, versus near immortality. When you've only got one go at it, things have different priorities. The world's so much bigger in some ways, even as it's constrictingly small," he said softly, refusing to elaborate. He looked away again, expression unsure and wistful. He knew who he was -- he just didn't know if his other self remembered who He was. Time changes all things, even when we didn't acknowledge it fully, he thought, feeling the weight of weariness dragging him downward. 

"You wouldn't have been safe, if you had stayed. You wouldn't... you wouldn't have survived, most likely. Wouldn't have been able to protect you," he said finally, struggling for a moment of awareness before closing his eyes again. "Too many timelines converging. All of time itself was in danger. There had to be a reckoning, a turning point."

"Just please, tell me he wasn't alone," Rose began to plead, only to find he had finally fallen asleep again. It figures, he wouldn't be able to answer that one, she thought in resignation. 

"He's finally out, then?" her mother said, surprising her as she came up with a cup of tea. "Pete said he was working on a plan to get us out of here. Thinks it'll probably work."

"That's good, because can you imagine what they'd do to him? He's not up to running away now, and we can't stay down here forever," Rose said, picking at a hanging thread on the hem of her jeans. 

"That's for sure. How's it been with him these last few weeks?" Jackie asked, watching her daughter closely. Rose looked worn out, though they all did by now, having been in the bunker for almost 24 hours.

"He's... different. Still him, but different. Like he's off balance, unsure of himself. Sometimes I catch him looking at me, and it's like I scare him or something. Or it's all a dream and he's expecting to wake up."

"It's been a long time for him, too. The way he lived, with that kind of life, he's probably been through hell and gone," Jackie sniffed. "You're not thinking that it'll never be the same between you two again?"

"No, it's just... it is almost like it was before, the flirting and running away before it gets too serious. Except, he's still a mess. That was the only life he ever knew and he's still not adjusting. I don't know if he ever will. He spent almost an entire week drunk and nearly useless. Apparently he's got a tattoo that no one's seen."

That got Jackie's full attention. A look of speculative curiosity came over her face. "What? Him? He always struck me as too uptight and I dunno, old fashioned for that kind of thing. Where on earth could he be hiding it? He's only been in his pants since we got here. Oh no, do you think it's... down there?"

Rose couldn't resist smiling as she pulled her mother back when she leaned forward to pick at the sheet."Mum, leave him be. It's not our business and you can't go molesting him while he's sleeping."

Owen strolled over, finished with his inventory. He had a smug, satisfied look on his face. "I can answer that one, even if I wouldn't recommend trying to look at it. It would probably hurt him, and wake him up again at the very least. It's on his right side, about 4 inches below his armpit, just where it would've been hidden by that sling the whole time. I noticed it when I reset the joint."

"Well, what is it?" Jackie asked impatiently. 

Rose just raised her eyebrows in a surprised look. She'd thought it had just been an elaborate inside joke between him and Marcus. Some kind of coded message, or something. 

Owen made dismissive look, clearly unimpressed. "Just a series of small circles and shapes that make no sense at all. Arranged in rows almost like a barcode or something. I'm starting to think that's to be expected with him."

"Should've known," Jackie said with a snort. "Probably the coded directions to the nearest fruit stand, so he can find his damn bananas next time he's lost."

Rose suppressed a giggle. "I'm not surprised, really. I always told him he was a bit of a punk -- this just proves it. I'll have to ask him what it is when he wakes up. How is he, though? I know you examined him when after we released him from the backboard and again after he wandered off to the loo."

Owen had a look of wonder and annoyance as he said, "If I hadn't known he wasn't quite human, that would've convinced me. Fat lot of good it did, other than speed up the healing on his side and shoulder. Could probably take the sling off now, since the swelling is gone down. Though it'll probably help keep him from using it so much for a day or two. As for his side, you'd think it had been a week, instead of merely a day since the surgery. Can probably remove the sutures in a day or so."

"Wait, his sonic... maybe that would help. It's got some settings that speed healing. It should be in his coat pocket," Rose said, going towards where the bundle of mostly ruined clothes had been left by the door. 

She winced when she saw the full extent of the damage. He was not likely to be happy when he was awake enough to care, and the only thing really wearable was the jeans he'd had on under the mechanic's boiler suit he'd had on when they'd gone to confront Cernunnos and his servants. The jeans were splattered with blood, but the only thing they hadn't had to cut off of him besides his trainers and socks. The sonic was in the breast pocket of the boiler suit, a few splatters of blood highlighting how close death had come. 

Rose swallowed down the taste of nausea in the back of her throat. He'd promised her his forever and that had almost been cut tragically short. He'd come too close to the edge for comfort's sake, and something told her he'd left a lot out when he'd told her what he'd seen. Maybe it was the slightly evasive look he'd had, or that she remembered all too well what he was like. Both of him. 

She could also guess the other version of him had finally gone too far. He hadn't said, but she could read between the lines. Translating Doctor speak had been a talent of hers at one time. Even if she was ready to accept him for who he was, didn't mean she didn't feel a pang of sadness for the other one. They never covered this in all those magazine articles on relationships, she thought with wry amusement. "What To Do When The Man You Fancy Replicates Himself" hadn't been one of them. Neither was "How To Get Your Inscrutable A Brick Wall Man To Declare His Intentions." For all the flirting, he'd still given no indication on whether they would remain just friends -- albeit with occasional snogging -- or something more. _Never said things with the Doctor weren't complicated,_ she sighed to herself as she brought the sonic over to show Owen.

"You mean he's had unregistered alien tech here all this time," Owen asked, disapproval evident. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking extremely affronted. 

"It's not a weapon and it's his. He doesn't have much from his old life," Rose said resolutely. 

"You couldn't part him from that thing, anyhow," Jackie added, rolling her eyes. "Has to go scanning everything in sight with the bloody thing. Even his food. Analyzing it for molecular differences, or some such rot he said. I think it was just him saying he don't trust my cooking."

"And Pete's just okay with all this?" Owen said incredulously. "Despite all the rules and regulations that's in violation. Hell, he's a walking violation, himself. Dunno how Pete's gonna get the rozzers off him, considering him getting explosives that easy probably has them all half barmy. The whole cover story for him is blown, and no getting that cat back into the bag."

Rose just replied in the affirmative, despite the fact even she'd wondered the same. They were probably going to be keeping him in a safe house or in seclusion for a while, at least until he could get his TARDIS ready so he could escape. While ending up persona non grata on various planets was par for the course with him, even getting exiled by Queen Victoria once, somehow this was a lot more daunting. Being unwelcome in your own country during your own time was something new. At least when he'd blown up Number 10 in their old universe, he'd had UNIT to back him up and call off the heat. _Dad, you better come up with some kind of magic,_ she thought with a bit of desperation. _Otherwise things are really going to get sticky for us all._

 

 

 

Somehow they pulled it off in time before the late news. It was a minor miracle. When the news reporters' cameras went live, there were a pile of protesters at the front of the pack sympathetic to the Doctor and waving signs that said things like "Set Him Free", "Bring Him Home", and even "He May Be An Alien, But He's OUR Alien".

Donna had rallied the people from around the neighborhood in Hackney where the Doctor and Rose had been living in hiding, while Wilf called his pensioner friends. Seeing a pile of shady looking bikers, blue hairs (clearly up past their usual hours) and a Pakistani family with a pile of children of all ages was a bit surreal, Pete thought. And he'd seen a lot of the strange, unusual, or downright unlikely in the last ten years. But there they were. Walking frames, plimsolls and sensible shoes, beside studded leather, Doc Martins and a family in head cloths and bourkas. And a small group that hung to the side, seemingly headed by a woman that looked like the librarian from hell and a small, shifty looking man whose demeanor fairly screamed "Criminal!"

The fact that Sally and a small number of Torchwood employees joined the crowd was a surprise. There were mixed feelings in the agency on the half alien who'd turned their world upside-down. Most were ones who remembered him from when they'd followed the remaining Cybermen into a parallel world without zeppelins all those years ago. Some were even ones who'd worked on the Dimension Cannon, having heard the rumors and stories about him over the years. 

Pete had to marvel at the numbers that had shown up on such short notice, even if the vans from the senior center were causing a traffic nightmare already and everyone was uneasy about the number of motorcycles lining the street. 

The only thing really disturbing was when the small man sidled up to him and offered to threaten to bomb the Met if they wouldn't let up. Slightly perturbed, Pete politely said thanks but there was no need to go that far, wondering again who the hell these people were and where the hell they managed to meet the Doctor. The little bomb-offering midget had given no name, but his was not the type of face easily forgotten. 

Not one to discriminate, Pete was nevertheless planning to get the man talking before this was over. Maybe setting some rules down. Lots of them. Like no inviting people over who might possibly blow up the house, or teach Tony to do anything of the sort. Also, strict guidelines on what was and what wasn't appropriate to teach young children, because Pete could very well see the Doctor showing the little boy the various ways to destroy a toaster that would cause the most consternation and alarm while leaving no proof as to the perpetrator. Bad enough the boy still wasn't convinced that all fat people weren't aliens in skin suits, thanks to the Doctor's idea of bedtime stories for tots.

When the news came on, (they'd even rated the reporting talents of the American News Network's own Trinity Wells on this one) it was with bated breath as Pete watched the reporter interviewing the crowd. 

"We're gathered here tonight, in front of One Canada Square, better known as Torchwood Tower, to witness a vigil, of a sort. Since yesterday, the entire country and the world has known the identity of the man who's actions have left us all reeling," the reporter said smoothly. "Not much is known about this 'John Smith', whom police are currently seeking and Torchwood themselves have confirmed is partially of alien origin, and the investigation itself is still pending. But here, tonight, these people, who all claim to know him personally, are standing here in support of him. Who are you and how do you know him?" Trinity asked, turning to Donna.

"I'm Donna Noble, fastest typist in Chiswick. I've known him these past three weeks. Rose and him showed up on my Gramps' doorstep out of the blue," Donna said bluntly, barely seeming to notice the lights and cameras, like she couldn't care she was on international telly. She stood tall, visibly daring anyone to contradict her.

"So the whole kidnapping thing was a hoax?" Trinity asked. She raised perfectly manicured eyebrows in a well-schooled expression of surprise.

"That it was," Wilf spoke up. "They had no other choice. They were trying to protect Rose's family, they were. There were these pod people after them. Possessing people, trying to get that poor lad especially, since he knew what they were and how to stop 'em. Making up all kinds of terrible lies about him and saying he'd done awful things to his girl, too!"

Pete was finally starting to feel optimistic as he watched the reporter go from person to person at the front of the crowd. He knew well role the media played in shaping people's way of thinking. Seeing people from different walks of life and social groups speaking out positively couldn't help but sway things in their favor in the court of popular opinion. It wouldn't make all the difficulties magically disappear, but it would certainly help influence people into listening when the Doctor got to tell his side of things and make them more receptive to believing the evidence. Even if they could get the police and military to back down, a more welcoming public would make things easier.

So much for him blending in anywhere now, Pete thought ruefully. Like it or not, he's going to be in the limelight for years because of this. At least Rose can give him pointers on avoiding the most aggressive paparazzi. Not to mention this will be a phenomenon with the internet bloggers. By dawn, even the vendors in Mumbai will know who he is. If they don't do already.  
￼


	30. Chapter 30

30

I'll tell you a few more secrets.....

Pete was starting to wish he was the one hiding in the underground bunker. A wrenched shoulder and some broken or missing ribs couldn't be half as painful or aggravating as the thick headed officials he was dealing with. Instead, he was currently in his office, in yet another late night meeting, trying to work a bargain that wouldn't lead to the Doctor being incarcerated for the rest of his natural life. 

Even if some of the other parties involved in this weren't exactly open to the alternatives, they'd toned down their aggressive tactics once the post mortem results had come back on one of the bodies recovered. Just as confusing to the coroner as the ones that had previously been found, there were enough similarities to conclusively link the investigations. Also the fact it had been one of the undead whose shambling gait, slack facial features and dramatic collapse within meters of the barricades had plenty of witnesses. Not to mention it had been captured on video and was out in the wild for anyone to see on YouTube. His secretary, Lisa, had been the first to tell him the video of Donna and Rose suddenly appearing had long since gone viral. 

Pete was willing to cash in on Torchwood's known involvement in the reappearance of the stars. Though they'd long kept Rose's double life as the Vitex heiress and the Torchwood agent secret, it was now the time to drop the charade, while doing some creative editing to past events. Couldn't go telling them that technically he was trying to protect his daughter's whatever-he-was, who was more of an unknown quantity than anything and hadn't been officially in charge of anything beyond artifact identification. Or give away his own misgivings on what the man was planning other than causing monumental headaches and chaos since he'd first fallen into this world on the eve of Lumic's perfidy years before. 

"You can't put him on trial. He's an undercover operative vital to our planet's safety," Pete explained to Jacobson, and Paul Hartley, the head of the Met. The government prosecutor was also present. "I admit, he and Rose were incommunicado for most of this operation, and we didn't inform any outside agencies, but it was for a very good reason."

The prosecutor, William Jones blinked in surprise. "Was your confidence in outside agencies keeping this under wraps so poorly that you could inform no one? Even Madam President finds this a disturbing development. There is already a parliamentary inquiry shaping up."

"Especially since two of my top investigators were here not even a week ago as part of the official inquiry and you said nothing," Hartley said in deep disapproval. "That's obstruction of an investigation, that is."

"Look, we were running out of time with few options, otherwise. We had to go a bit unorthodox," Pete said, exasperated. He took a deep breath, having weighed his options and seen no other way out. He looked at the three men seated in his office and made an instant decision. "I'm about to tell you something that only five people in the entire universe knows about. I've decided to break protocol on this one, and it's highly classified."

Jones and Hartley both looked intrigued and slightly upset at this admission but didn't interrupt. They had been briefed about Torchwood's activities and purpose in the past. Or at least had heard various credible rumors about the Vitex millionaire's side project and rumored double life. 

But Jacobson looked extremely disturbed. This was far different from his usual cases, and far beyond his realm of experience. The events of the last ten years had been eye-opening to the possibilities of there being more to the universe than anyone had first thought, but this was well beyond anything any rational person would consider. Cybermen? An abomination. The spreading Darkness? A catastrophe in the making. The Zombie Apocalypse, in Shoreditch of all places, are you bloody mad?! What next, vampires, werewolves, and sentient breast implants? It was all sheer lunacy. It had to be. Now could we just go back to nice, humdrum, commonplace gangs, muggings, and homicides to investigate so his world could return to normal? Reality had turned out to be an unknown country and he was damn sure he didn't like it.

"John Smith, also known under the code name 'the Doctor' is the one of the people directly responsible for turning back the darkness. If it wasn't for him, none of us would even be here," Pete said, fudging a few details. He knew from what Jackie and Rose had said there had been more people involved, but this lot wouldn't know that. Better they thought he as a hero, instead of merely the man who'd blown up half of a neighborhood. "At the time this all started, he was the only one who'd had any clue what we were up against and how to stop it."

"That still doesn't account for the two million quid in damages," Jones sniffed. "Nor will that bring any comfort to the families who've lost loved ones."

Pete nodded gravely. "Torchwood will certainly cover the costs for the damages, as well as compensation for the victims and their surviving families," he said, knowing that would likely unruffle a few feathers. It was only the fair thing to do.

"There's also the matter of the illegal explosive device he used. The scene of crime officers have already traced the source of the materials used to an anarchist group that Interpol has been tracking for the last decade," Hartley said stiffly. 

Pete could tell all of these men would be a hard sell. William Jones, not related in any means to President Jones, was currently looking like he'd discovered a dead rat in his tea. 

"With no way to tell at the time just who was affected by this... entity, it's not like there was any other option. Or even a way to tell who would even be on our side, instead of already being subverted by the enemy. Especially considering it was a possessed MI5 agent with a fully kitted out SOCA squad that broke into my own home to arrest them," Pete snapped, pointing out that there was good reason this had all gone clandestine. He was surreptitiously watching the DI's reaction through this whole thing. If anyone would be the hardest to sway, it would be the man with the narrowest worldview. 

The sarcasm was fairly dripping from his words as he continued in a slightly bitter tone, "You all remember what it was like after the Cybus mess. Everyone was grieving and going a bit mad. Then the panic once the stars disappearing became common knowledge outside of the intelligence and scientific communities. We couldn't just go announcing on the telly that something was going about possessing people at random and could the public please call if the milkman acts a bit off."

"You will at least admit he's in Torchwood custody at the moment," Jones cautiously prodded. Pete had been very close-mouthed about anything regarding the Doctor's whereabouts and status so far, other than admitting he had been located and was injured. 

"Yes, and he is under care at this very moment. As you all very well know. It'll be at least a month before he could stand for any inquiries, if not longer," Pete reiterated, knowing this subject was unavoidable. "And before you ask, he's not in this building. I'm not as stupid as that. Trying to trace him to remove him from Torchwood custody isn't going to work, either."  
Hartley nodded reluctantly. "As far as the murders are concerned, he's merely a material witness at this point."

"Which I'm sure he'll be glad to fill you in on the details ad nauseum because the man could talk the ears off the statue in Trafalgar Square. And he will do so in a month at the earliest," Pete said firmly. 

Jones cleared his throat. "Interpol is also interested, because of the bombing and his dubious connections to this anarchist group."

Pete laughed outright. "Don't be absurd. He's not involved with any anti-government bunch of loonies," he scoffed. "Look at the people who turned up last night in support of him. Can you see a bunch of pensioners coming out to say nice things about a common criminal on telly? Or a mad bomber?"

He really hoped he hadn't just gone merrily skipping from the land of half truths and little white lies into the realm of fantasy. Rose had mentioned he'd once brought down a regime with six words -- and that he'd been more himself then. Who knows what this already unpredictable version of him would get up to. So far he'd heard some story about him being a mechanic in a garage run by people on the police watch list, and that was ignoring the whole Hell's Angels thing. _I'm probably talking out my arse,_ Pete thought ruefully. _But it takes all kinds to make a world and they haven't figured that particular association out yet. Just hope he's not going to turn out to be the next crime lord on top of this. I don't think I could handle the mess if he decides to go from Time Lord to crime lord, running the all gangs in London._

Hartley and Jones exchanged a look, Hartley nodding slightly. "There is a chance of some kind of deal that could be worked out. It would come with restrictions, of course," Jones said cautiously. He still looked like he'd a bad taste in his mouth. "I would have to consult my superiors before I could even hazard an educated guess on the particulars, much less a full confirmation at this time." 

"His injuries. How do they prevent his being interviewed?" Jacobson pressed, speaking up for the first time since the formalities had been taken care of at the beginning of this meeting. 

"For God's sake man, he had to take cover in a rubbish skip because his escape plan unraveled when an innocent, unarmed civilian was caught in the middle of it. My own daughter was the one who got that civie out using a teleport device he'd cobbled together. He's had to have the shattered remnants of a rib removed and had his bloody arm almost ripped off -- the least you can do is let him recover before you all start planning to clap him in irons and stuff him in Newgate and call it an 'interview'," Pete grated. His patience was wearing thin and these people were driving him up the wall with their pigheadedness. Just when things had been starting to look up, too. "Just ask the people who've met him in the last three weeks and then just talk to him in a month. Just talk. No questionings, interrogations, or arresting him. You'll certainly find he's not a violent man."

Pete was not about to go so far as to say the Doctor was harmless. _Hardly that. About as safe to be around as a train wreck, even if he had good intentions the whole time. The road to hell is paved with them,_ Pete thought with a sigh. _And that madman has probably charmed enough people down that road. Should just call him Mephistopheles and get it over with. Or Murphy, since anything that can go wrong will, especially if he's around._

Pete had taken the man's measure from the first time he'd met him. Always one to go with his first impression of people, he'd tempered it some since then, but not much. He still likened him to a loaded gun: an asset, and a defence as long as the safety was on; just pray it never got turned around and it was _you_ stuck staring down that barrel.

 

 

Through the night, Rose had slept fitfully, mostly thinking about the future. There was much to consider now, since the feed from the late news had been broadcasted to Jake's palm top computer. They'd all understood the implications of that rally in front of Canary Wharf and the likelihood they'd be out of this place soon. 

There was lots to consider, especially for her. She could admit freely she loved him, this him. Trusting him enough to start anything with him beyond platonic companionship was something she wasn't sure she was ready for yet. He still had the highhanded, arrogant and inconsiderate tendencies as the other git who'd left her on that damn beach without stopping to consider giving her a choice. Even if this one was more vulnerable, open and showed signs of wanting to go further, he was still him. The Doctor. The man who strolled through people's lives, lording it over all and sundry while not telling you the half of what was going on. For all this one had let out -- so much more than the other would -- he'd held back enough to feed her concerns.

 _It's not even been a month,_ she told herself. _No expecting him go spilling everything at once after all those years of keeping schtum. But do I dare open myself fully to someone who's still more of a mystery than all the secrets of the cosmos? It was one thing when I was a silly 19 year old shop girl, but now I'm a Torchwood field agent, I've pioneered pan dimensional travel and I've seen things he probably hasn't. Forget the world populated by Silurians, where humans were just children's tales. Or even the one where the Nazis won, or the other where Napoleon was never exiled and continued to conquer Europe in the name of France. Just the ways it all went wrong because one parallel version of him never left Gallifrey, or he decided to commit suicide with some giant spider woman under the Thames._

She'd met most of his past incarnations, even if it was only a gut feeling about an unfamiliar face she'd seen in the midst of catastrophe. An old man with a cane rudely brushing past in a crowd in front of the British Museum. Him complaining about the insolence of humans when they'd gotten the time frame wrong on one of the early jumps into the right version of earth they were looking for. She'd seen how all of the versions of him had always held his companions at arm's length, other than the one she'd seen under fairy lights in an American park. He'd been something else, more like the man currently sleeping off the effects of the painkillers, in a way. Just that one, with the velvet frock coat, he was more innocent and gentle.

One thing she knew, all of him were probably rubbish at real commitments -- friendly or anything else. Oh yes, he'd defend his companions to his dying breath, but he wouldn't lower himself to their level. Not completely. Was this him, the part human him, willing to take that final step? Or had he just made the offer of his forever because the loneliness was too unbearable after all those centuries? Was it desperation from not having anything but the clothes on his back and an infant TARDIS that made him stay? Add his physical injuries as a factor to that now. If he wasn't adjusting to all this, a stranger in a strange land and currently stranded, would he be off in the blink of the eye? Running away when it all got too complicated or domestic or just plain boring?

The naive teenager wouldn't have cared. She would've gleefully jumped at this, gone running to his bed, even. She wouldn't have thought or cared about the practicalities or the likely outcomes. That girl died at the age of 21, on a beach in Norway, when the last Time Lord burned up a sun to say goodbye. The second farewell had just been the final memorial for her innocence. 

Now, she was a woman; she considered things like consequences and the practical things and knew how bad things could get in the blink of an eye. She'd been there enough times to know when not to rush headlong into an unknown situation. She'd seen enough to know trust had to be earned. She was halfway to taking him at his word, but still something stopped her from taking the initiative. Yeah, she was still angry inside. It would take awhile to completely forgive this one because he was him, as he'd insisted. 

It was sometimes hard to look at him and not want to slap him silly for his counterpart's betrayal. Even if the slightly rougher accent, newfound vulgarity and more overt flirting distinguished him from Him. One was the Doctor from Gallifrey, one was the Doctor via Chiswick; both sides of the same coin, and both simultaneously infuriating and endearing. One had already blown his chance spectacularly, the other she was steeling herself against whether to give him the same opportunity. Because while an embarrassingly immature part of her wanted to grab him, throw him onto the nearest horizontal surface and shag him rotten, the grownup inside knew she'd never be so shallow as to reduce it to just that. If she had him she wouldn't be able to go back, and losing him again would be too much to bear. Even with him being just a friend it would be impossible, but doing that without it meaning anything was not going to happen. It would be all or nothing or it wouldn't go beyond just friendship.

 

 

It was well after midnight when he woke again, muffling a moan of discomfort when he briefly forgot about his ribs. She wasn't surprised he was conscious again so soon, since Owen had already complained about how much morphine it took to have an effect and how quickly it wore off. Rose got up from her bed to check on him, kneeling next to his and watching him. He was breathing shallowly with his eyes closed tightly, face pale. "You okay?"

"Blimey, if that's not half sore," he said with a shuddering breath when he'd composed himself. He opened his eyes and have her a gentle smile, despite his obvious pain. "Hello, Rose."

She forced herself to smile, the ghosts of her previous thoughts still running through her mind. "Here," she said, trying not to use her professional demeanor that she used on missions. One of those differences she still found jarring. Just as the tattoo did, despite her shrugging it off in her mum and Owen's hearing. It was still hard to imagine the Doctor, any Doctor, as old-fashioned and rigid as he could be, stooping to something so human and primal. "Found your sonic. Thought it might help. You always used to have settings for cuts and scrapes. Speeding the healing would be a help."

He shifted slightly so he could cautiously test his right arm's usefulness before reaching out to take it. Switching it to the other hand, his face was screwed up in concentration as he waved it over his side. The whirring of the sonic was the only sound in the bunker with everyone else sleeping peacefully. It seemed like an eternity with no results until he stopped suddenly with a frustrated groan. 

"It's no use," he said softly, clearly more upset than he was going to let on. "It's not gonna work."

"Why? Power cells low?" Rose asked in concern. Owen's med scanners hadn't worked on him, nor had the tissue regenerator.

"You could say that. Most of the regeneration energy that blew back over the connection before it failed went into patching up a few things in here --" he made a motion towards his head -- "so I'm not risking cerebral hemorrhages or worse from trying to use my time sense or the like. Did that instead of healing this mess up. And to top it all off, the sonic is useless for this."

"Really?" she asked. Definitely not going to think about whether he knew that when he showed me he could still feel the earth turning or when he was messing with time. Because that means he was that stupid to knowingly risk killing himself and not even tell anyone. And that there has been a whole lot more going on than he's said.

"Yep," he said, still looking glum. "There's a setting for Time Lord biology, human biology -- even Axons if you'd believe that --.just nothing for metacrisises. Never been another like me. Too much off the norm for either setting to work."

Rose couldn't even begin to understand what it was like, being neither one nor the other. "I'm sorry. Is there anything that could help? Anything I can do?"

"Nah, it'll heal. In time. Probably a bit faster than one of you lot, but not as quickly as before," he said, managing to pull off his old carefree tone. "Bit shoddy, this whole mix. Even the sonic can't even figure out what I am. Definitely give me a project, that."

"Yeah?" she said hopefully. At least he wasn't going to go headlong into one of his self-hating rants. Not yet, that was. Her smile was real this time and full of relief. 

"Yeah, borrow a few microscopes and a DNA sequencing machine and figure out the exact ratio of Time Lord to human. Then, hopefully I can modify the programming on the sonic enough so it'll work in future. Never know if I'll need it again someday," he said, trying to focus on the planning instead of a few things that had occurred to him. 

"So Doctor, that tattoo," she said, briefly interrupting his thoughts with a coy smile. "Can I see?"

He blushed but lifted his right arm carefully, revealing what looked almost like a weird barcode, just like Owen had said. It looked familiar, too. 

"Is that... isn't that like what you had on those post-it note on the TARDIS monitor, just done smaller?" she said, looking slightly bemused.

"Ha! So someone did notice!" he said, obviously pleased. "You're the only one who ever did."

"What the hell is it? It was always the one thing the translation circuit didn't work on, so I figured it was just some weird alien art," she said with a smile.

"Yeah, art. Something to remember it by," he said with a chuckle. He decided to take a partial risk. Chance inviting disaster and letting it all out at once. Definitely a wasn't going to be scaring her by telling her it said 'Rose Tyler, I love you. Forever'. Even if that was just the short translation. Probably pushing too much too soon, it would. "Not hardly. It's my name. So I won't forget," he lied. Well, sorta. Old High Gallifreyan was a bit odd when it came to tenses and pronouns.

"Really? You could forget it?" 

"Yup."

"Seriously, you tattooed your name on your body in case you got too barmy to remember? You are definitely still an alien. It says 'Doctor'?" she said with amusement. Not like she'd ever expected him to be normal.

"Well, sort of, but not really. It's my real name. I could tell you, but... then we'd all die when all of reality folded up and collapsed through the rift in time and space that it's sealing in the Medusa Cascade."

She let out a frustrated groan. All those times she and Mickey and even Jack had speculated at his real name and here she was thinking she'd be one to solve the big mystery. "Are you kidding me?"

He smirked, eyes twinkling. "Nope. But I did have another name. A nickname of sorts, back when I was in the Academy. They called me Theta Sigma, the blighters. Theta for short. Such an unimaginative lot, they were. Calling people by their loom numbers."

"Numbers? But aren't those Greek letters?" she said, giving him a look. He was wearing that inscrutable, slightly guilty look.

"Yeah, about that. That was the product of a lot of alcohol and a prank between me and the Corsair. How were we to know that K'anpo would actually take us seriously?" he said evasively. 

Rose smiled, figuring he was pulling her leg, like the old days. "You think you're all so impressive. Next you'll be claiming it was a Time Lord that founded society in Ancient Greece."

"Oi! I am impressive and no, they just borrowed part of our numbering system and used it for their alphabet. Humans. Always confusing things for something else. Even got our names all wrong in their legends. The twonks." 

Could be worse, he thought. Could've been cowards like me who don't even dare tell her everything. I don't want to scare her, or push her beyond what she's ready for. Especially when I'm still amazed she's not given up on a walking disaster like me. I don't deserve her. She deserves so much more, but if she wants me, I'm hers when she's ready. If I haven't self-destructed, gotten incarcerated for life, or driven her batty one too many times before then. But I've got hope. I rather like hope. 

"You're impossible, and hopeless," she groaned. 

"I'm not impossible, merely improbable," he said smirking. He was already thinking of things he really hoped weren't impossible. 

Once the new TARDIS was almost done, would he even be able to get the briode nebuliser to even accept his hybridized DNA? Or would he have to attempt genetically modifying a sample to fool it? Wouldn't do to go blowing himself up if he didn't have enough Gallifreyan in him to pass the Rassilon Imprimatur. Especially since he was hoping Rose would be there with him on that first trip. And don't even go near the whole biological compatibility and fertility question. Though, it would be just my luck if Pythia's curse remained in effect. Wouldn't be fair to make the offer of forever and promise the stars again if he couldn't... 

Outwardly, he gave Rose a concerned look. He saw how tired she looked and mentally kicked himself. "It's half two, you should be sleeping. More than wasting your chance at getting some rest sitting watch over me."

She hesitated then nodded, standing up with a yawn. She paused before she went to turn away, looking back at him, concern evident. "You gonna be alright? I'll go get you the stuff and you can dose yourself. I know you're hurting."

"Nah, I'll be fine. It's not likely to work and it's not more than I can stand. I'll just do a spot of meditating, relax my mind a bit. Work through some of this... stuff." He gave her a reassuring smile. Honestly, he felt knackered enough to not need any assistance from the drugs to fall asleep. 

"That's not some fancy Time Lordly codeword for 'moping', is it?" she asked pointedly. She was tired, but not sleepy enough to wonder if he was being evasive and trying to push her away so he could lay there reveling in his recriminations. She could see what the other Doctor meant when He'd said this one was more like what He'd been when they first met.

He smiled, more honestly this time. "Rose, I'm too bloody knackered. I couldn't even hold a train of thought to even contemplate the preponderance of guilt I bear for just one of my past incarnations, much less now. I'm going to try to sleep, I promise. You should too. You humans need it more than I."

"You're part human now," she retorted as she settled back on her own camp bed.

"Just enough to need to waste four hours a day on average, though. Not the full eight you should have, Rose. And it's not likely we'll be getting much peace for awhile after this." 

He didn't say more. They both knew there'd be a lot of debriefings, inquiries, and long meetings after they got the go ahead from Pete that it was safe to come out. And that was if everything went well and he wasn't immediately arrested. He was still trying to be optimistic on that.

"G'night, Theta," came a soft voice muffled by a combination of yawn and blanket. 

"G'night, Rose," he said smiling fondly. If she had only known what he'd felt for all these years....

 

 

The ringing of the phone woke Pete from where he'd dozed off in his office. Looking at the clock as he answered, he was grateful Mabel had stayed to watch Tony. It seemed like aeons had passed since their lives had had any semblance of normalcy. 

"Tyler here," he said apprehensively. Was a phone call at half four in the morning ever good news? Probably not, he reasoned when he recognized the voice on the other end of the line.

"It's Jones, the parliament prosecutor. I've been authorized to offer a deal by the Madam President and Parliament. A provisional one, with restrictions and terms that the violation of which would bring severe penalties."

Pete was surprised they'd worked something out this soon, but with Torchwood now known to be paying the compensations and damages, and the rising public sentiment, he'd almost expected it. Especially with the elections coming in another year.

"What would that all entail, exactly?" he asked cautiously. 

"The official paperwork is en route via courier, but I will summarize. A period of home arrest, followed by and concurrent with a much longer probationary one where the subject would have to report on a weekly basis. Strict travel and work restrictions would be in place, as well as being required to give the names of the ones who supplied the materials and he is prohibited from possessing the like in future. There would also be restrictions on and monitoring of all involvement with Torchwood in future," Jones said, still sounding displeased with this outcome. 

Pete winced at the terms he'd heard so far. He couldn't imagine the Doctor being particularly chuffed over the compromise. "How long for the home arrest and probation? And if he refuses?"

"Well, it specifies a term of no less than a year, with the chance of it being significantly longer. As for the alternative, I'm sure a being incarcerated for the duration of his natural life, never leaving the prison until he's died will be a far less desirable," Jones said peevishly. "This will be the only option for leniency, and it's non negotiable. Also, since he's of extraterrestrial origin, he would be handed over to UNIT, if his people cannot be contacted for exiling from the planet."

Pete was trying not to consider the ways it was likely to go pear-shaped, or how long before the Doctor managed to violate one -- if not all -- of the conditions. But if this was the best they were going to get, so be it. They could go along with things for awhile, and sneak him out of country if need be.

"He's lost his people. He's part human, but the rest of them, they're lost. He's stranded here. All he's got is a few people he knows, and we're his only family," Pete said, referring to his own family. "I'll have to accept it on his behalf, I guess. I'll be sure to make him sign and adhere to the restrictions," he said calmly, looking over to where the powered down Comms unit was. Should he risk waking them at this hour?

"Not neccessary. If he's to accept the terms and conditions, he is to sign the paperwork while in police custody, before he is released back to home arrest. I suggest you take advantage of a police escort to save the time and effort of bringing him in yourself. That is also non negotiable."

"Can that part wait?" Pete asked hopefully. Looked like he was going to be waking someone up soon.

"The deadline is noon. I suggest, however, for the sake of expediency and a showing of good faith, that your people do not delay."

Pete sighed. He'd known all along that there would be repercussions from this and it was likely to severely actioned. He'd actually expected worse. This wasn't so bad. Not in comparison. "Give me four hours," he said grudgingly.


	31. Chapter 31

31

At least there's jam....

Being mentally prepared and being prepared for the reality were two vastly different things, he had found. He'd managed to get dressed on his own while everyone else (other than Jake) was sleeping. Jake had offered his jumper so he wouldn't have to make do with a sheet, since his arms had been chilled. The whole susceptibility to temperature differences was another thing on the list of why being part human positively, absolutely sucked. How these real humans managed to survive amazed him. Another example of the sheer brilliance of humanity. 

A whole species of silly apes, going off to explore and spread through the universe, with anoraks and AC in tow. Really, with those kidneys, body temperatures, general physical fragility and hormones, it was nigh inconceivable. Then again, it was those damn hormones that would get them so widespread. With all that mating like rabbits, it was inevitable, really. 

On that topic, he'd done a lot of thinking in those late hours when he'd been the only one thinking. That had been half the point of his meditating. All the certainties he'd had had gotten a bit rattled after watching the final adventures of his other self before the regeneration. He could thoroughly see why Rose sometimes looked so guilty after she realized she was falling for him. He understood why she'd have a hard time, knowing the full Time Lord version of him was still out there, alone. Some how, he'd have to tell her it wouldn't be a betrayal. He was still the man that told her to 'run' all those years ago, just not the one who abandoned her on that accursed beach. That he was the one who stayed, and was going to stay, if she wanted. All the things that still needed saying, both now and then. That was, if he could ever find the bollocks. 

Especially since he'd seen how bad it would get when he didn't have a hand to hold. He'd known, without thinking about it. It had been why he'd held himself back before. Knowing allowing that last barrier between his love for her to fall.... well, he'd have been the worst threat to the universe if anything happened to her. Bad enough his other self had almost wrecked the time/space continuum after dropping them off. Add that to the list of Things Not To Tell ANYONE. It'd be a bit impossible to convince anyone of the superior intellect of Time Lords after that gaffe. Can't exactly go round picking up a whole new continuum at Tesco's, could you now? 

Of course, that had made him realize that it was time to stop being so maudlin, try to be someone Rose would want to spend her life with, and not just feel obligated to. The ponce in the box hadn't helped that part really, but his own insecurities were mostly to blame. Getting over the guilty feeling that he was holding her back would take some doing. Why would she want a gloomy old (now partially) alien yonk, when she deserved so much more than him? That constant nagging worry that he'd just end up ruining her life would be hard to overcome. Not like a regeneration and a half -- well, there was that shared bit from the other him, but he had decided to not count that -- would change that concern he'd carried for centuries when it came to letting people in that close. Yeah, she was worth everything to him, but did he even deserve that kind of reward? Deserving or not, he'd decided to try at making her happy. He couldn't stand to imagine anything else and he knew he needed her. Couldn't trust himself enough to do it alone -- not with that shining example of how stupid he could be.

Jackie had heated a tin of soup on the hob and threatened him with dire consequences if he didn't eat. He'd humored her, since he was well beyond peckish at that point. He'd even gone as far as eating a few energy bars, Jake's bag of prawn crisps and shared one of the cans of pop Rose had found in his boiler suit pocket. The food had reminded him of how much more sustenance this fragile body required. Bloody inconvenient that was, even if his mind had worked better without an empty belly clamouring for food trying to distract him. Also, the renewed energy helped. He'd felt himself flagging, but had chalked it up to blood loss and these quaint human pharmaceuticals.

As for his mechanic's overalls, he'd pulled the lower half on over his jeans and tied the arms loosely around his hips. Of course, Owen had insisted on checking the wound, poking and prodding him annoyingly while assessing his healing rate before changing the bandaging. His insistence that it was "just a scratch, merely a flesh wound" was ignored. So was his suggestion for just popping a plaster on it and calling it good. Nope, they'd redone the whole lot, even wrapped his ribs, and stuffed him back in that infernal sling. Despite the fact his right arm was perfectly fine at the mo, if a bit stiff, Owen had insisted and even Rose had joined in to beg him to be careful. 

Touching really, all that concern over his well-being. But really, nine hundred years or so... couldn't they understand he'd been around the block a few times? Same old song and dance, yeah? Granted, the last time he'd been though this piffle, he'd had the TARDIS infirmary or been able to regenerate. Mountains out of mole hills, it was. But it was nice to know people cared.

He'd even put up with Jackie trying to straighten out his hair with the comb she'd had in her handbag. It wasn't so bad, getting fussed over. Even if he'd known it was just everyone working through their concerns about what was coming. Pete had radioed ahead, waking Rose and Jackie. Owen had already been up pestering him and Jake had been monitoring the Comms for any incoming transmissions. 

The terms and conditions that had come through from the prosecutor and the Met weren't exactly what he'd been hoping for, but it was better than a life of bread, water, and a tiny cell. There were even loopholes to exploit. Ok, no leaving London for awhile. No one said he had to stay in the same century. Or specify London the city on Earth, the planet, or New London on New Earth. That is, provided New Earth existed in this reality and that he could manage to have Donna smuggle his TARDIS coral to him without the fuzz finding out. 

No explosive materials, including things assembled with alien tech, household items or things off the black market. They didn't specify inventing new things to go boom, or things from the future. Though some canny plonker with too much information on him did specify no particle accelerators, splitting atoms, or the like. And who the hell had told them about the toaster? He'd merely been trying to make it like the ones he'd heard had been invented in the 53rd century. 

(Ah, a wonder to behold. The quantum toaster. Same principle as the commonly nicknamed "Schroedinger's cat" theory of wave/particle theory, just with toast. Either there was, or there wasn't toast. Except he'd tweaked it so there always be toast -- with jam, of course. That's probably where things got a bit wonky, and a bit smoky, fiery and... Whoosh! Bits of metal flying about the room. He'd replaced it for Crispin, and he'd even mopped the lino in the flat's kitchen for him. If you really wanted to see something that had the potential to really mess with molecular bonds, gravitational fluxes and the curdle all dairy products within a 8 kilometer radius, you should see what he could pull off with a microwave and an old telegraph machine. And no one had realized how very honored and humbling it should feel, getting the only Time Lord Metacrisis in existence to do housework. How the mighty had fallen, indeed.)

The worst part was the open-ended home arrest bit. Not that he was planning to go wandering too far for awhile, but it was the principle of it all. Them, those pompous official sorts, telling him, the only Time Lord-human metacrisis in all of existence, that he couldn't go where he pleased. Really, if it wasn't for Rose's sake, he'd have chortled at their audacity and told them where they could stuff it. Specifically, somewhere that would make sitting at their big, wooden desks rather uncomfortable. Even Jake had agreed with the sentiment, and Jackie had been all worked up on his behalf. Rose had been too, just been more subtle about it and had said it was probably for the best, trying to soothe the spectacularly stomped on toes. If Pete was saying it was the most prudent course of action, so be it. Though he'd seen the worry underneath her muffled outrage. He'd reassured her he'd be fine. He hoped.

Really, he'd been in plenty of prisons across several galaxies. Including some specially modified for humanoids, since his hosts at the time hadn't been. And some that weren't. The Squid People on Delta 9 had some of the worst ones. He'd had to tread water for days before he'd been able to talk his guards into starting a revolution so he could escape while everyone was distracted. That had resulted in a formerly subjugated portion of Delta 9's population finding their freedom, so it was all for the good. Hell on his wardrobe, though. And it wasn't like this lot was actually planning on keeping him. Not that they'd have succeeded. Part human or not, battered around the edges or not, he was still the Doctor. A tad bit brilliant, he was.

For all his previous reasonings, when he'd emerged from the bunker under a laundrette in Islington, he'd been momentarily stunned by the sunlight. He'd forgotten what it was like, almost. Proving that two days mostly spent wandering through his own worst nightmares and navel gazing while under the effects of human narcotics and excruciating pain might be something to avoid in future. He'd barely noticed the two coppers standing with Pete and Sally until they'd already grabbed him by the arms. 

"Oi! Hands off the merchandise, Sunshine," he'd complained, trying to pull away when the man with the badge declaring him to be DI James O'Connor disregarded the sling. He'd forgotten his usual method of charming his captors while bamboozling them with a pile of words while he worked out an escape plan. The other one, a DS Gail Evans had been gentler about it, atleast. "No need to get all grabby! Geeze, the nerve of some people. I tell you, proper manners are so hard to find these days. No wonder your society is falling down round your ears."

"Be careful!" Owen had snapped at the policeman. "He's injured, despite the fact his gob still works just fine."

Rose had looked at Pete in confusion. "What's this? He said he'd take the deal. They can't just manhandle him, they'll hurt him worse than he already is."

"Pete, what the hell--" Jackie had sputtered, starting to show signs of getting ready to go off her nut in protest. Rose hadn't looked too far behind and even Jake and Owen had looked like they'd add their piece.

"I'm sorry, Jacks, Rose. It was part of the agreement. This is just a formality, don't worry," Pete had apologized. He looked to the police officers. "Be mindful of his injuries. Any more and the entire deal is off and we'll go around you lot and appeal to President Jones herself. There's more than one way to clear things up."

A look was exchanged between the two police, before they nodded in understanding. DCI Gail Evans had been the one who had spoken next, giving him the cautioning, "John Smith, you are hereby under arrest. Since you've already informally agreed to the restrictions and probation period, you will henceforth be escorted to a secure location where you will be searched and questioned before you sign the documents. Anything you say can and will be used against you, and your rights to legal representation have already been forfeited. Silence is recommended. Do you understand this cautioning? Please indicate your compliance with a nod, sir."

"What, no solicitor? What a load of bollocks--" he'd started to protest, starting to work up to the Oncoming Storm look that had worked to warn off enemies before. 

All it got him was a rude jostling from O'Connor and Evans repeating, "Do you understand, sir?"

"But, this is ridiculous! Pete!"

Pete's apologetic shaking of the head had shaken him, but the fact he looked relatively calm told him this display was likely a mere formality. Got to soothe those trampled egos. Make those pillocks feel like they're in control, he'd surmised. Alrighty then, on with the show.

"Silence is recommended," O'Connor hissed in his ear.

He'd looked around, seeing the pained look on Pete's face, and how upset everyone looked. No way out of this one, they had him but good. Only one thing to do. Seeing Rose giving Pete that look that he only got when he'd locked her in the TARDIS or tried killing a defenceless Dalek, he was glad he wasn't in that man's shoes. Seeing it mirrored on Jackie's face, he winced in sympathy. 

Pete was going to be experiencing the full wrath of both Tyler women shortly. Probably on a par with Pompeii on volcano day -- if not the super nova in the heart of the Hercules system -- he imagined. If he wasn't currently being arrested, he'd do something about that. Shame really, though he'd love to be a fly on the wall, for curiosity's sake. Pointers on how the man had survived all these years without permanent emasculation or the burgeoning effects of insanity would be nice. Also, the hope of learning methods to calm said Tyler women down without kissing or yelling sorry while running for your life and sending flowers from a safe distance away would be rather useful.

Pushing down his pride and stubbornness, he had nodded reluctantly, sighing in defeat. He had given Rose a look that he hoped would translate to, "I'm alright, really. Don't worry about me. Though you might want to protect your Dad from your Mum, and take it easy on him, he's trying."

Well, isn't this wizard, he'd thought as they pushed him into the back of the panda car. Been awhile since I've rode in one of these. And the least they could've done was let Rose come along. Would've been just like old times, the two of us getting hauled off to gaol together. No respect. Absolutely none. Having a hand to hold would've made it easier to ignore the pain and discomfort from riding, especially where that shite O'Connor purposely jabbed me in the side. I get the impression he really, really doesn't like me. No clue why. It's not like I've ever done anything to him. Maybe someone pissed in his porridge and didn't tell him until after. Either way, I'll have to watch that little wanker. No charming that one, I guess. 

 

 

William Jones looked into the interrogation room at the King's Cross station house, getting his first look at the man inside. He had a hard time squaring description of the "greatest threat to the Republic of Great Britain" with the reality he was seeing. Even with the criminal types he'd dealt with during his career, there had always been something about them that had always differentiated even the most harmless-looking sorts who he'd handed at trial. Hard to believe Britain's most wanted was a skinny chap with freckles.

He'd read most of the files MI5 had had on this John Smith, alias of the being known as the Doctor. Most of those documents were now being called into question for their veracity, with the details of Agent Ferguson's life over the last three weeks coming to light in the investigation. Torchwood's files had been less forthcoming, but he'd already interviewed some two dozen people who'd had contact with him before this. 

He knew Pete Tyler had his reservations, but trusted this man enough to let him in his home. Several of the staff from the mansion had been spoken to as well. 

Mabel Edwards had said, "Finding that whole thing with him kidnapping her was a sham, well it's a shock I tell you. Couldn't make myself believe it of him, even if he's a rude little mite. Not always, and not mean about it. Just cheeky. Always seemed a bit lost without her. Miss Rose, that is. Wouldn't see him smile or nothing til she was home from that bloody Torchwood. Terrible place that is, all them things going on. Creatures and such like. It's not natural, it's not. Maybe those poor dears will get some peace, now. A chance to be happy."

A few people had mentioned tendencies in the subject for arrogance and an occasional waspish temper. But none had mentioned seeing that temper let loose, though O'Connor had said there'd been a few tense moments during the initial arrest and when they'd searched him upon arrival at the station. Evans had said he'd seemed to mellow partway through the photographing and finger printing part of the standard processing. Chemical means were suspected, Evans said. To be expected with someone who'd been under doctor's care for most of the last 48 hours. Owen Harper, the Torchwood medic who'd been treating him had also been interviewed and his notes on the surgical procedure copied and gone over to verify the injuries and severity.

There'd been a oral swab and blood sample for the forensics people, though all testing was to be done through Torchwood. Another part of the agreement, that Pete Tyler had refused to budge on. Torchwood's priority remained in protecting a refugee and one of their own. Considering the gravity of the situation, the number of different agencies inquiries, and the number of investigations and committees this had spawned, it was telling, indeed. 

Jones had been certain most would've been trying to distance themselves from the man at the epicenter of this mess, rather than defending him. He still had his doubts when he stepped into the room. 

"Hello, I'm the Doctor," came the friendly, if obviously exhausted, greeting. 

"Yes," Jones said, taken aback at the man's appearance up close. Harder still to reconcile the information that this man was in fact an alien hybrid. He looked human enough, though he supposed there were differences, yet unseen. "We're quite aware of that fact." 

One of the police officers had provided the subject with clean clothes, the rest having been taken as evidence. The stark white shirt that was several sizes too large only emphasized how unwell he looked, even if he was trying to be congenial and cooperative. The loose cotton trousers weren't much better. 

Jones cleared his throat. "There are numerous questions about the events leading up to and before the bomb was set at 31 Nazrul Court."

"Blimey, that's where it was? Didn't happen to notice the street address at the time," the Doctor said mildly. He gave Jones a slightly dreamy smile. "I was a tad distracted at the mo. Disembodied entities from before the creation of this universe possessing people... slightly busy. I'm sorry. I will be sure to note my location at all times while in the middle of saving all of humanity from their doom."

"Right," Jones said, debating whether to postpone the interview until the man was no longer, as O'Connor had put it, 'high as a kite or mental'. He wasn't sure if the bloke had been serious or merely sarcastic, despite the lack of a mocking tone to the words. He decided to err on the side of possibly getting more information, since the man was obviously coherent enough. Whether this was a crass violation of standard protocol possibly the subject's rights wasn't his concern at the time being. Nothing about this situation was in the slightest bit normal, anyhow. 

 

 

He was glad he'd thought ahead to clear out his pockets before they came out. They'd still confiscated his yoyo, ball of string, Edgar's spanner, and the hair elastic Rose had taken to keeping in there. Better than them finding and confiscating his sonic. Or trying to convince the police it wasn't a potential violation of the conditions. 

He was so glad he'd acquiesced to Owen insisting on dosing him before they left the bunker. His whole side had felt like it was on fire by the time they'd gotten to the station. Three hours of questioning, another hour of a full review of the agreement before he'd signed the documents. Lots of little things before they would finally stuff him back in the panda car and take him back.  
They'd taken his boots, but they'd been nice enough to give him a pair of those lovely little socks with rubber treads on the bottoms. Brilliant, it was. Sock-shoes, or shoe-socks. He couldn't decide what they'd be properly termed, but they were rather nifty. 

Along the second hour of questioning when the two inspectors had joined the party, DCI Evans had been nice enough to go get a tray of nibbles. Good thing, he'd been getting a bit hungry again. There'd even been a little pot of jam, though they'd all given him a strange look when he'd started sticking his fingers in it to sample it. How else was he supposed to eat it? They'd not trusted him enough to even let him have a spoon. As if he was going to go all psycho on them with the flatware. 

Finally, the moment of truth: when they'd finally let him out of that accursed room, his signature in all the right places, in triplicate even. They'd even given him his own copy, in case he managed to forget his freedoms were suddenly limited. Being treated like a criminal -- if a high profile one due certain privileges and special treatment -- was nothing new. Really, he could probably write the Official Guidebook To Criminal Justice Systems of All Historical Eras Throughout The Universe by now. And that didn't count the ones he'd been tried in absentia, merely been forbidden from returning, or they hadn't caught him yet. Why did trouble always find him? All he was was an explorer looking for a spot of adventure. Not like he always expected some mad scientist, some loony bent on despotism, or alien invasions everywhere he went. They always just seemed to follow him about. 

They didn't let him out of the cuffs on the trip back to the Tyler estate. Wouldn't even let Pete drive him, even though he and Rose had been waiting for him. The worst part, they wouldn't let Rose near him, but he'd given her a smile and a wink. By now he was starting to enjoy that floaty feeling from the morphine, and the fact that the pain was merely a mild irritant now. 

Unfortunately, that pain had helped ground him through all the questioning and now he was fighting the urge to physically hold on to the string that was keeping his head from floating away. Good thing panda cars didn't have those removable tops, or they'd be trying to find his great Time Lord brain, he'd told O'Connor after seeing the narrow-eyed look he was getting in the windscreen mirror. At least he wasn't so bothered when the car had finally stopped. 

After what seemed like decades (his time sense had stopped working entirely once the narcotics kicked in and somehow, he couldn't find the gumption to give the Jazzic's tentacle about it) of them reviewing the parameters and perimeters of where he was allowed. (The property line at the Tyler's estate, any change of residence was to be requested 30 days in advance and the location reviewed prior to approval. Plus the standard restrictions on nonprescription drugs and alcohol- though why would they ever think was he planning the bash to end all bashes? My stars, what these humans thought us aliens get up to in our little UFOs.) Once everyone had made their full understanding clear, they'd popped a monitoring cuff around his left ankle and made their departure.

Finally. Home. Or at least it would be. Though, if he was required to stay here did that just make it a giant, palatial prison? If so, it wasn't so bad. It had Rose here, even if there were carpets, doors, and Jackie hovering and fussing over the police having the temerity to treat him so. And those delightful little cherubs carved into the fancy trim work around the ceilings... Pete asking if there were any abuses he'd like to report... Little Tony squealing with delight at his return and wrapping himself around his leg... Rose giving him a welcoming hug, just as relieved as he was that the police hadn't broken their word and locked him in the closest cell... It was familiar and wonderful and strange all at once. And he was happy, relieved and very much comfortably numb.

"Oh my goodness bloody gracious, Rose, I'm... high!"


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a sequel to this, titled "Spaceship -- or the Rules of Doing Domestic" that will be posting shortly.

32

That and this, these and those.... 

Two hours later found the Doctor resting on a sofa in the library, the narcotics worn off already. He'd been able to convince Rose to go get some rest 23 minutes or so before. It might have been longer, as his time sense was fuzzy still. The remnants of his Time Lord metabolism had kicked in and filtered the morphine out of his system. Enough so he was already starting to wonder what the hell was really going on when Pete walked into the room.

"So, you survived the wrath of both Tyler women without sustaining any damage, I see," the Doctor said sardonically without preamble, eying the sheaf of papers Pete was carrying.

Pete nodded and sat in a wing chair. "That's because I explained the situation to them as I would have done for you had I the chance when you got back, if you were still orbiting the same plane of reality as the rest of us," he said with a hint of disapproval.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Owen shouldn't have dosed you so much."

The Doctor laughed, wincing at the resulting pain in his side. "Don't make me laugh. Kinda sore. Hence the medication. Told him what strength to use, but rather failed to take into account some things aren't like they used to be. Tolerance for opiates and pain included. So what's the deal? You've got something up those sleeves of yours, Pete Tyler. And it's far more than your arms," he bit out around the burning sensation as he shifted slightly to sit more upright. "I've had a metacrisis and a bit of a smash up, not gone soft in the head. Spill it."

Pete gave him a look, shaking his head. "You're in rough shape, mate. Barely able to move without agony and you're still able to detect the smell of subterfuge."

The Doctor gave him a smirk. "My people invented subterfuge back when your planet was still bits of star dust and debris left over from the formation of the solar system," he said with a hint of pride. "Now, start talking. I'm too bloody tired and too bloody sore to have much patience."

Pete didn't waste any time getting to the point. "The reasons are twofold. One, it's a way to let people's memories of the events and you fade some so you can eventually manage a normal life. However you would define normal, that is. Two, it's to save you from yourself, so you can live long enough to have that life, if you want," Pete explained. He saw the Doctor's expression of pure outrage and continued before he could be interrupted. "Look, all this has to be the greatest come down in all of history, but you can't go on as you have been. I can't begin to understand fully what you've been through, both since you and Rose were separated and you came here, but I know you're heading for disaster."

The Doctor snorted bitterly, shifting slightly on the sofa as he tried to find a more comfortable position. "So you think you know me that well, do you now?"

"I know what it looks like when someone's run too far and too long and has forgotten everything else but the running. I know the signs when someone's pushed themselves too much and can't figure out how to stop," Pete said sympathetically. "I've seen people who've lived inside their own hell so long they can't recognize anything but the abyss anymore."

"Well, I've been down in the abyss. Met the beast in the pit. Believe me, there's little resemblance," the Doctor muttered sarcastically. 

"Ah, sarcasm. The last resort of the person in denial facing a truth they don't want to acknowledge," Pete said archly. "Tell me, how long have you been running, Doctor? Can you even imagine what it would be like to stop and just be happy?"

"Longer than your little human mind could possibly imagine," the Doctor snapped, patience wearing thin. "What's with all the sudden concern about me?"

Pete watched the beginnings of the temper he'd heard so much about rising. He wasn't going to back down. Someone had to talk sense into him, before it was too late. 

"How many times have you almost been killed in the last week alone? How many times, when it could've been avoided?" Pete questioned. He saw the Doctor flinch as he got closer to the point. "How long before your luck runs out on you, and you manage to get my daughter killed or yourself?"

There it was: the full-on fiery rage, blazing eyes and cold, hard expression of pure fury and anger. "I won't. I promised to protect her and I've kept that promise."

"Barely," Pete retorted. "If Donna hadn't shown up, would you have sent her out of there? Would I be arranging a funeral for two more at this moment instead, or having two gravely injured people recuperating in my home? She won't heal the way you did. And my guess is your counterpart won't be regenerating often enough to allow you to pull that one off a second time." 

The Doctor froze, rage visibly dissipating into a self directed version. He nodded stiffly, eyes downcast. 

Pete continued in a gentler tone. "Rose told us all a lot, over the years. The life you led, the dangers you faced regularly. You can't go on like this, rushing in without thinking. You're mortal now, like the rest of us and Rose will follow you anywhere. She's as bad as you are, and I'd rather not have to face her mother and tell her her only daughter needs burying. You've got what, thirty, maybe forty or fifty years left, at most?"

The Doctor just nodded and looked away. Reminders of having only one life and a newfound sense of mortality still hurt. They were still hard to reconcile against centuries of memories and experiences. Hardest yet, accepting this state where Death not only had your name and number, but could be just around the corner waiting for you. 

Pete was surprised. He'd thought it impossible to render this man speechless. He almost didn't hear the Doctor speaking, it was so quiet. 

"I never thought... I never meant to put her in danger. But I have, since the beginning. It's why I made her stay here, to protect her from me. Now, I'm here, and she's at risk again... I'll just go. I'll have broken my promise, but that's nothing new. Universe's biggest con man, that's me. Leading the innocent and inquisitive off to their deaths and destruction, all in the name of adventure," he said softly, regret evident as he attempted to rise, despite the pain. 

"That's not what I meant, you bloody fool, now sit down and listen," Pete sputtered. "If you go, she'll follow you as surely as night follows day. She did it once already, and her mother and Mickey went right behind her. This was all after the first person who went through the Dimension Cannon came back in little pieces. We had to scoop him up with shovels into a bin liner. If she'd had her way, Rose would've been the first one to test it."

The Doctor blanched at that, looking slightly nauseous. He settled slightly. How many times had he had the same fears? How many times had he ignored the risks and gone merrily tripping along, right into disaster?

"From what I've heard of your past, and from what I've seen of you in the last four weeks, you'll be lucky if you make it a single year like you are. Face it, neither you nor Rose have any idea how to just live a life anymore. That is, if you ever did. I'm not going to presume to know how your people did things, but they couldn't have all been gadding about looking for trouble."

"Well," the Doctor drawled. "No. Not really. Most of them were boring bureaucrats, all stuffy and pretentious. Didn't really see eye to eye with them. They called me a renegade. Got myself exiled, even after I had run away."

Pete wasn't really surprised to hear that. Human kids ran away to live on the streets, with the old adage of 'running away to join the circus'. Apparently Time Lords had a much larger scope when it came to things like that. He handed the papers he was holding to the Doctor. 

"I can remove the monitoring anklet now, if you accept this list of rules you're to follow and hear me out. Call it an intervention if you like. Rose won't tell you no on anything and Jackie -- well she'd have thumped you a good one by now. Look, your TARDIS, it'll be ready in what, a year?"-- a hesitant nod was his only reply -- "This will give you a chance to find your feet without inviting further disaster, or you bringing it down on our heads," Pete explained. "Then maybe you will have some perspective once you do start travelling again."

The Doctor gave him a glare, having already scanned the long list of restrictions. "Kinda hard to do the 2 am taxi cab thing if I can't leave the grounds," he said pointedly. "This list is worse than the police's rules."

"I think you'll find that Torchwood is the one monitoring your movements, not the Met. Considering I already got the illegal explosives charges dismissed, along with everything else. Call this a safety precaution." Pete snorted. "If you accept the terms and conditions, your freedom is yours immediately."

The Doctor stared at him with open admiration mixed with respect and a touch of horror. "Oh, you're good. Very good. Better men than you've tried to rein me in in the past. What makes you think you'll succeed where they failed?"

"Because. You want Rose," Pete said succinctly, halting the beginnings of an all out revolt before it could start. "And the way you've been carrying on, you'll never get anywhere with that. There's far more to a normal life on earth than catching a cab in the middle of the night. You'll be able to learn your limits and it will give you and Rose a chance to work things out between you two."

"And trapping me is going to achieve that?" the Doctor snapped. "How, pray tell, do you expect to pull that one off? Oh right, I forgot. Imprisoned men are perceived as a better catch among certain women. All that bad boy imagery and all. Can't wait to find out what Rose thinks about this." 

Seeing the look on Pete's face, he gave a tight smile. "Of course, she wouldn't have gone along with this little plan in the first place, would she? Which is why --" with a sudden dramatic pause for effect -- "you didn't tell her about this brilliant little scheme of yours."

"No, I didn't didn't tell her. But this is obviously neccessary. Destroying that warehouse could've been done remotely -- which would've been far safer. You've got a death wish." 

"But where's the fun in that?" the Doctor said flippantly. "Safe is usually so very boring."

"Exactly my point. Hate me if you want, but it's for your own good. If this is the only way to save you and protect my daughter's chance at true happiness, so be it." 

"Good luck on that one, mate," the Doctor sighed bitterly. "Not only am I the abandoned stray, I've been put on a leash now, too. Well, isn't that just wizard. Like that old mariner with his bleeding albatross. Except this time, I'm the damn bird, holding her back. And I'm not even able to fly, much less leave the sodding boat."

"You can fly free now, if you'll agree to the rules."

The Doctor eyed him. Most of it was simple, easy things like eat regularly, keep regular hours, and warn people ahead of time before a situation turned into a crisis involving the military, police, and major traffic delays. Learn to actually use the alias and back story he'd been given. Try to avoid being the next internet sensation in future. No anarchists invited over for tea and biscuits. Enter buildings by the doors, no B&E, no organizing riots to circumvent the traffic laws or distract people. Not much to agree to, or much to sacrifice, even. But it was the principle of it all. Adhering to rules and customs like everyone else on this silly little backwards lump of rock. "Fine, I'll do it. I guess. Not much of a choice, is it? But what the hell, you've got me now. I'll just have to accept your terms."

Pete pulled a small device from his pocket and disabled the cuff. He motioned towards the anklet. "They did advise me to keep that on you, keep you locked up for a very long time, but I'll trust you. Most of the people you dealt with today don't even know what actually went on, the deals made or any of it. All the files on it will all disappear, assumed lost in the shuffle and the stories of a gas leak are being let out through the normal channels that'll lead people to think it was all a massive hoax. Including the ones who were there and filmed it."

The Doctor didn't move, just stared at his leg. Bending to take it off seemed like too much of a painful ordeal and it was a harsh reminder of reality. Here he was, no longer merely bound by the laws of universe and his own self-imposed code of conduct. He'd responsibilities and obligations of a much less grand scale now. But in a way, they meant so much more. Like what he could mean to Rose. If they could ever manage to get anywhere with that. So complicated, these little, profound things like feelings and emotional responses. So small, yet so very, very important now. Scarily so.

"Did you ever stop to think it might be because she's waiting for you to go swanning off again? Or because you're like watching a train wreck in slow motion?" Pete pointed out, guessing at the Doctor's thinking. "You were just ready to do it again, not even five minutes ago. If you weren't all banged about, all we'd have seen of you would've been the dust you raised up scampering off. You're like family to me, and I'm not going to let you kill yourself or break all our hearts watching you do it."

The Doctor winced again, this time over far more than physical pain. "Just thought..."

"Maybe what Rose needs is you. Not the stars, different planets or amazing adventures. Just you," Pete prodded.

"But that's boring! I'm boring now. Or I will be, with all these bloody rules to follow."

"Look, you thick headed booby," Pete snapped, considering knocking sense into the man, injuries or no. "It's you she went looking for. Not your ship, not the rest of all that stuff. If she wanted the stars, she could've taken the trip the Sidonians offered her two years ago."

"Really?" The Doctor was surprised. He could see her waiting for the other Him, but not him. He'd wondered at the hesitation he still sensed in Rose, but figured it was identity related. It was all a bit confusing still, even for him. Even with his other self changed now. 

"Yes, now get some rest and go talk to her, you plum. She's been fretting upstairs thinking you're going to blame her for this. Find your feet and learn how to live. Consider yourself grounded."

The Doctor stiffly got up, refusing Pete's offer of help. Pete watched him go, shaking his head in despair. If the Doctor had pitched more of a fit, he would've taken the cuff off for him then and there. Even if it wouldn't set any alarms off now if he left, it would at least let them know where to find him if he did anything majorly stupid. 

 

Rose woke from her nap with a groan, the momentary disorientation reminding her why she'd always hated taking kips like this. She was debating whether to just continue sleeping, since it was already late enough judging by the near darkness outside her bedroom windows. Flopping over onto her back served to alert her to the fact she wasn't alone when her arm connected with a large lump that let out a startled yelp. 

"What the hell?" she muttered, rolling over to switch on her bedside lamp.

There he was, stretched out on her bed, and obviously just waking up himself. 

"That's what I should be saying, " he groused. "You've a very sharp and pointy elbow, Rose Tyler. Very sharp indeed. It's a good job I wasn't on your other side, or you'd have succeeded in staving my ribs in where that rubbish skip failed."

She sat up and looked at him. He was just comfortable where he was, all stretched out in a set of jimjams like he belonged no where else. Hadn't even asked, much less warned her he'd be moving right in like this. 

"What are you doing here?"

"I was sleeping, until someone assaulted me with a not so blunt object," he said pointedly. 

Of course he'd pretend to be that obtuse. "What if Mum saw us?"

"I imagine she'd be glad you got some rest. Though, beating about a recuperating man is just shameful. I should tell on you," he said, raising an eyebrow and giving her a saucy wink. "Then again, I was given marching orders to talk to you after a total dressing down from your father. Very persuasive and sneaky little blighter, he is. Though, I imagine that's how he's survived your mother all this time."

She rolled her eyes. It was either too early or too late for this. And even she wasn't going to try imagining what her mum would say about the Doctor being sprawled out on her bed, pretty as you please, despite the mention of him being read the riot act already. She decided to jump past trying to explain propriety and appearances to him. Much less the particulars on the scolding. Especially if he was still feeling the effects of the painkillers Owen had dosed him with this morning, though she thought they'd probably worn off by now. "So how're you feeling?"

He made a face. "Meh, not so bad. Tried my own bed, but it was too lonely. These rooms are bigger than our whole flat was. Kinda got used to the whole living cheek by jowl thing, even if neither of us actually have jowls."

Rose smiled, pushing her hair back from her face. She was comfortable enough around him now to not care about having bed head around him. Considering he currently looked worse than she probably did. 

"It's nice to be back though," she said softly, lying back to lean against the pillows. Looking around the familiar walls. The repairmen her parents had had come in had done an amazing job. Couldn't even tell where the bullet holes in the plaster had been. "A working heating system that's will take the chill out of the air and warm floors."

"A shower that doesn't hate me and sound like the continental plate's ready to collapse under my feet," he replied. 

"A real bed that's not likely to kill us..." she continued.

"I rather enjoy not having my kidneys speared by sofa springs of dubious antiquity, bent on the total destruction of the lumbar vertebrae," he added jovially. 

Rose laughed at that, noticing he only gave a smile in return. He was more uncomfortable than he'd admit. She could tell by the lines around his eyes and the way he was holding himself. 

"So, what now?" she asked, taking the leap into outright daring. "With you under home arrest and all?"

"Don't worry about that bit. Pete's got that all taken care of. I've just got more rules to live by than the competitors in the international canasta championship on Velaxi 9 have," he said airily. 

She gave him a look of disbelief, but only said, "What are you planning to do, then? After you're feeling better, that is?"

He got a thoughtful look then. "Well," he drawled out slowly. "I imagine that's all up to you. Whatever you want, I'm game." He looked her in the eyes then, a look of shy hope warring with his usual congenial mask. 

"Really?" she breathed, wondering if she was still dreaming. 

"Oh yes," he said, just as breathless. "Damn lack of a respiratory bypass. Rather inconvenient, that," he said with a hint of irritation that almost made her laugh despite her sudden bout of nerves. 

Was this him, actually finding the bollocks to commit to something? To actually step beyond the boundaries of just friendship? She didn't quite trust herself to speak. 

"I meant it, you know. That day on the beach," he said softly, earnestly, and managing not to flinch at the memories. Had it really only been a mere twenty eight days? Seemed like so much longer at times. "I'll spend the rest of my life with you, if you want. Though I would totally understand if..." He paused, then launched headlong into a quickly babbled statement that he'd obviously put some thought into, "Never thought I'd get this far," he said with a soft laugh, surprising her. "What a long, strange trip it's been. Most of the time, I like to travel. But I'm tired of traveling, I want to settle down. I guess they can't revoke my soul for trying... hang on that's the Grateful Dead. D'you know I met them once? That Jerry, hell of a bloke. Got a reading for a potential threat to the timeline, spent a week running around San Francisco looking for the problem. Ran across them when I was trying to sort things out. Turned out it was all an error. The TARDIS misread 'Hait Street' for 'Hate Street' and the potentiality event extrapolator took it as a sign that California had been taken over by insidious group of bigots and pulled me out of the Vortex. Took forever to get that all recalibrated properly. Very rambunctious place it was then, during the Summer of love. Wasn't much better than when I'd been there in 1999."

She was trying her best to follow his rambling, puzzlement losing out to endearment as she started to gather the gist of what he meant. He was promising to stay, to not leave her. She wondered how much was the morphine, how much was the threat of restrictions, and how much was him. And that's when her mother banged on the bedroom door and yelled, "You two coming down anytime soon? Your food'll be getting cold."

The Doctor gave the door a poisonous look. "Bloody hell, can't even manage..."

That did make her laugh. The way his hair was going in all directions, the way he'd froze like a deer in the headlamps at the sound of her mum's voice. She got up and threw the dressing gown he'd left over the chair at him. 

"Come on," she said, pulling him to his feet gently. "Mustn't keep her waiting."

"No," he murmured in agreement, looking disappointed at the interruption. 

She understood what it had probably cost him to come out and say what he'd managed to get out. "Look, we'll figure it out, yeah? We've got plenty of time."

He smiled then; an unforced, natural one of relief and joy. "Oh yes."

She grinned back at him. "You ready to go eat dinner with the family?"

He gallantly offered her his left arm, even as he sneakily used her to lean on. "Onwards and upwards-- right. Bit inaccurate, considering we've got to go downstairs. Either way, we'll go together."

Rose blinked at the unspoken promise she saw in his eyes. As nervous as he had been, he was still being more open than he'd ever been. Whatever he was promising, it was a start. It was also more of a commitment or promise than she'd ever gotten from the other Him. "You better believe it, mister."

He gave her that wide grin that had always seemed to light up a room. "Allons-y!"


End file.
